


Temerity

by AKA_Green



Series: The Spy and the Soldier [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Angry Steve Rogers, Bullying, Canon-Typical Violence, Feminist Steve Rogers, Fluff and Angst, Historical Accuracy, Historical Inaccuracy, Historical References, Hydra is and always will be a nazi party, M/M, Non-Serum Steve Rogers/Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes | Shrinkyclinks, Period-Typical Homophobia, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Protective Steve Rogers, SO, Service Dogs, Snark, and steve is tiny, but bucky is down an arm, everybody forgets that steve rogers is an angry and spiteful sonofabitch, im not sure it quite counts, punching nazi's is a valid form of self expression, sort of, steve rogers the bitter tiny pill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-17
Updated: 2017-03-22
Packaged: 2018-09-20 09:02:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 53,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9484055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AKA_Green/pseuds/AKA_Green
Summary: Steve smiled a bit and then sighed. “So the serum makes everything inside more? Than why are you picking me? I’m an angry Brooklynite. I get in fights all the time. Sometimes I feel like the injustice of everything's gonna crash down on me like a pail of cement and I’m so angry I nearly can’t move.”Erskine looked at him again. “Perhaps that is precisely why, Steven. Perhaps that is precisely why.”Steve blinked at Erskine.“Nobody even won a war feeling nothing but internal peace and happiness for the situation,” Erskine pointed out as he stood up. “And again, a weak man who has no power knows the value of strength. You, Steven, have seen many people abuse their power and you stand up to it. That is why I picked you.”The thing about the serum was that it amplified what was inside. This meantonlywhat was inside, of course. As Erskine said, there were already "...so many big men fighting this war, maybe what we need now is a little guy."





	1. Vanguard

**Author's Note:**

> Temerity: This word implies a rash, contemptuous disregard for danger.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vanguard: The forefront of an action or movement.

“Boy, a lotta guys getting killed out there,” the man next to Steve said.

Steve ignored him, focusing on the article he wasn’t actually really reading. This was his fifth try and he just fucking knew it wasn’t going to work again. Of course he knew. He failed the physical exam every single damn time. He had seen five doctors total and each one got this look the minute they saw him in clothing that hung off his frame. Three of them asked if he was under eighteen. One even had the gall to ask if he was a woman.

“Rogers, Steven.” With his name finally called, Steve stood up and folded up his paper.

“Kinda makes you think twice about enlisting, huh?” his companion asked, with a nervous tick in his voice.

“Nope,” Steve said firmly, not looking at him.

He stood in line for a few minutes, watching the men in front of him get acceptance after acceptance. He felt like he was walking into a pit of fire while everybody else was saying that the temperature was fine. He was walking right into humiliation, but hey, he had to try.

With Bucky already drafted, he had to try.

With all those guys dying out there, he had to try.

He still clung to that bit of hope that one of those doctors would be like ‘fuck it, why not’ and let him through for once. 

Steve finally got to the front and looked up at the doctor at the podium. “Rogers,” the balding man drawled, looking up and eyeing Steve. Hell, Steve could practically hear what the doctor was thinking. It was as clear as day. _‘Yeah right, kid, move along,’_  but the guy humored Steve and glanced back down at his file.

He gave the sheet an incredulous stare and then asked, “What’d your father die of?”

“Mustard gas,” Steve answered a little too quickly. Shit, he grimaced a bit. He should have looked pained for a second and then answered. Would the guy know he was lying? If he had told the truth, that his dad was an angry abusive alcoholic that vanished one day, found dead the next, it wouldn’t look as good as a loyal son following his father's footsteps.

“He was in the 107th infantry,” Steve lied, desperately pleading to whatever gods may be that this emotional play would get him into the same unit as Bucky. “I was hopin’ I could be assigned-”

“Your mother?” the man cut him off, not caring.

Steve clenched his jaw momentarily and then answered again, “She was a nurse in a TB ward. Got hit. Couldn't shake it.” Those were some of the worst days of his life. For the first time in forever, it was his mother wasting away on the bed, dying like Steve should have countless times before.

The man squinted at the file and bit his lip. Looking up he sighed and said, “Sorry son.”

“C’mon,” Steve pleaded desperately, leaning forward a bit, “Just gimme a chance.”

“You’re ineligible on your asthma _alone_ ,” the man said pointedly, not breaking eye contact.

“Is there anything you can do?” Steve asked, silently begging. He had tried so many times, pleaded so many times, and still this? He said he was from fucking New Jersey, even, having run out of options.

“I’m doing it,” the man said arrogantly, stamping the sheet with a fat 4F. “I’m saving your life.”

Steve angrily took his stuff and left, spitefully thinking ‘maybe I don’t want to be saved, just this once’. Just this once he didn’t want to be spared. He survived all those sicknesses, spared by some supernatural force at work, but now he didn’t care for that saving grace. He wanted nothing but to be a sickly shrimp of a man in an army, on his course for death on a battlefield. But he didn’t get that, so he was going to watch a film and get angry about it like an American Irishman and then he’ll go to his night job and stew for a while, counting the missing faces from the crowd.

He walked familiar streets, not looking at the signs or anybody else, and bought a ticket on autopilot, sitting in the spot he always chose at this theater and grumpily, enviously watching the pre-film advertisement about joining the war effort. He wasn’t even sure what he was seeing anymore.

 _“War continues to ravage Europe! But help is on the way! Every able-bodied-”_ Steve stewed in his anger, getting only more and more resentful and feeling like the film was rubbing his asthma and scoliosis and everything else in his face. _“-young man is lining up to serve his country.”_ There was a pause where the film showed more footage, images of more tall, strong men who joined up and were serving. It switched to the image of a child tossing pieces of metal into a pile behind him. _“Even little Timmy is doing his part! Collecting scrap metal! Nice work Timmy!”_

And now Steve felt like a useless child. He couldn’t even bend over for that long without his back or joints hurting.

“Who cares?” some jackass called out a few rows ahead of Steve. Steve’s attention focused on the back of the guy’s head. He glanced around to see people also looking at the man. A few women, on the verge of bursting into tears, looked away.

“Gimme the movie already!” the insensitive prick continued.

Steve knew the type of bully this one was without looking at him. The kind who thinks he’s entitled to everything because he’s big and mean and pure bred American white. The kind who don’t show anybody respect and spits on the people he beats up for kicks. The kind who enjoys being powerful and intimidating and cruel to people he thinks aren't as good as him.

“Hey, you wanna show some respect?” Steve suggested aggressively.

_“Meanwhile, overseas, our brave boys are showing the Axis powers that the price of freedom is never too high.”_

Steve watched an injured soldier get carried away, and the woman who was sitting a row behind him exhaled softly after her breath hitched.

“Let’s go! Get on with it!”

Now Steve was really pissed. The film was making the woman cry, likely because her partner was serving or had died, and the insensitivity this man was putting out was disgraceful and disgusting.

“Hey, just start the cartoon!”

“Hey, you wanna shut up?” Steve asked loudly, leaning forward in his seat.

After a beat, the guy stood up and turned around to face Steve. He was a good deal taller and bulkier than Steve, looking at Steve like he was a shark about to enjoy a full meal. 'I have made a terrible mistake,' Steve realized, but didn’t regret it. The guy was a bully through and through and he needed to be taught a lesson some way or another.

_“-We’ll face any threat, no matter the size.”_

“I’m sorry, do you have a problem?” the guy asked maliciously, cocking his head.

“I havea problem with jackasses who don’t know how to show people some damned respect!” Steve said.

“What're you gonna do about it, fag?”

“What? You gotta problem with people pointin’ out the fact that your attitude is shit?” And that’s when the guy stormed over and yanked Steve from the seat, dragging him away with startled observers watching.

 

* * *

 

The first punch made Steve’s head spin and sent him crashing into a trash can. His head spun, but he scrambled to his feet with blurry vision. The bully moved too quick and he was sucker punched again, falling down and feeling his face press into gritty asphalt. 'This is the second time I’ve been beat up in this alley,' he thought as he got back on his feet, grabbing the closest thing to defend himself and brandishing it. The trash can lid was ripped out of his lands and he was punched again, making him stumble back and knock over two of the trashcans. 

He stood again with his fists up, closing an eye to stop the double vision from messing with him and rolling his jaw. Not broken, luckily.

“You just don’t know when to give up, do ya?” The guy sneered.

“I can do this all day,” Steve challenged and then threw a clumsy punch. The bully blocked and then slammed his other fist into Steve's head yet again, knocking Steve back into the trash cans and making them crumple under the force. His head hit first and Steve slumped out of pain, his face pressed up against cool metal. Steve was almost content to lay there and play dead, but he suddenly remembered what his mother always told him. _‘You always stand up. No matter what, you always stand up.’_

Steve, filled with anger, started moving again but a furious voice said, “Pick on someone your own size,” and Steve melted with guilty relief.

There was some movement behind him and the sounds of a brawl. Bucky landed a nice solid hook and the bully yelped as Bucky kicked his ass out of the alley. The coward ran away after that, having met his match. Steve finally got back up, swaying slightly and looking down at his feet. He brushed off his pants and burned with shame and defeat, knowing that Bucky always had to put an end to fights that Steve started and couldn’t finish.

“Sometime I think you like gettin’ punched,” Bucky drawled, walking over casually.

“I had him on the ropes,” Steve said uselessly, flicking blood and grit off of his arms.

Bucky stooped low, grabbing the papers that Steve hadn’t noticed fall out of his jacket pocket. Steve didn’t make eye contact with Bucky, he closed his eyes and grimaced against the pain on the side of his head, touching it lightly with his wrist to see if it was bleeding.

“How many times is this?” Bucky asked with a sigh, unfolding the papers to see. “Ah, so you’re from Paramus now. You know it’s illegal to lie on an enlistment form,” Bucky reminded him.

“It’s illegal to exist too,” Steve snapped. “So what’s a little more?”

“And seriously, Jersey?”

“Ran outta options,” Steve countered and then finally looked at Bucky. He was in a neat pressed uniform, not a hair out of place from the fight. Steve, on the other hand, had blood dripping from his nose and a stinging split lip. Bucky looked ready to ship out and go fight Nazis. He looked like a soldier.

Steve felt his face fall and watched Bucky wince and look away. “You get yer orders?” Steve croaked, trying to act like everything was normal.

Bucky nodded gently and didn’t meet Steve’s eye for a minute. Bucky quickly got a hold of himself and stood up straight, looking Steve cockily in the eye. “107th, Sergeant James Barnes, shipping out for England first thing tomorrow.”

Steve nodded and then looked down, shaking his head and letting out a shaky sigh. Tomorrow. It might be the last time Steve ever sees Bucky. Maybe the last time he sees him alive. He wanted to scream and cry and fight and swear and spit and die when he thought about it. So he didn’t.

“I should be goin’ too,” Steve said and brushed off his hands. Bucky reached out and patted Steve on the shoulder, tension in every movement. They both want to hug each other and never let go, but they couldn’t. Not here. It was too dangerous.

“C’mon,” Bucky said, forcing a grin and walking them out of the alley. “It’s our last night. We gotta get you cleaned up.”

“Why?” Steve had assumed they’d just go home and savor the small amount of time they have left together, share a peaceful moment or whatever. “Where are we going?”

“The future," Bucky said dramatically and handed Steve a newspaper. He opened it and saw ‘ _World Exposition of Tomorrow_ ’ brandished at the top of the page. Bucky had always liked mechanics and futuristic things. He loved engines and those car magazines you could buy at some shops, and since it was Bucky’s last day on American soil, he was going to indulge.

Steve didn’t mind for once.

 

* * *

 

“You got us dates?” Steve hissed when they arrived hours later, grabbing Bucky’s arm tightly out of surprise, anger, and fear. Then he paused. He recognized those girls, actually, regulars at the bar. “Oh. Oh, Bucky, really?”

“I wanted a date with someone I liked,” Bucky teased. “And so did they. C’mon, what’s the big deal?”

“Didn’t know I had t’court a gal for the night. Surprised me.”

“Good thing you don’t have to look good for either of ‘em, then.” Bucky leaned down and whispered, “Just for me, Black Eye.”

“‘S not that bad,” Steve grumbled, but bumped shoulders with Bucky as he greeted the two woman. The shows were fantastic and bright and shiny. Fireworks popped overhead and bright smiling faces passed this way and that. There were so many interesting things to look at that Steve hardly had any idea what to do with himself. Bucky, luckily, knew exactly where he wanted to go and what he wanted to see, so all Steve had to do was trail behind him, wishing he could hold Bucky’s hand.

“Oh my god, it’s starting!” one of the girls said excitedly, grabbing Bucky and the other girl by the hand and dragging them over, likely out of instinct.

Steve felt a burst of jealousy and resignation, trailing after the trio. He almost lost them in the mass of people, but he finally squeezed through and stood behind Bucky, looking over his shoulder.

 _“Ladies and gentlemen, Mr. Howard Stark!”_ The announcer said and then the crowd clapped and cheered. The man himself practically pranced out on stage and kissed one of his show girls dirtily, making the men wolf whistle. Steve rolled his eyes and listened as he looked around.

_“Ladies and gentlemen, what if I told you that in just a few short years your automobile won't even have to touch the ground at all.”_

People gasped and Steve looked over, watching the women take the tires off the car. _“Yes, thanks Mandy. With Stark robotic reversion technology, you’ll be able to do just that.”_ Stark messed with the control panel and the car hummed loudly, lifting off the ground and suspending itself in the air a good half foot. Steve was, admittedly, fascinated with the idea. Cars that didn’t touch the ground. It might eliminate the need for roads, he thought, but then wondered of the implications behind it. Interesting idea, but was it worth it?

“Ho-ly cow,” Bucky said, impressed anyway, despite Steve's questionings.

Suddenly, the car’s hover wheels sparked loudly and suddenly gave out, sending it crashing to the floor with people startled gasps. Bucky looked back at Steve and grinned in delight. Steve managed to give one back.

 _“I did say a few years, didn’t I?”_ Stark said, laughing nervously as the crowd clapped yet again.

Steve finally spotted what he was looking for; ‘ _Recruiting_ ’ with good ol’ Uncle Sam under it. He shot one more look at the back of Bucky’s head and then slipped away, darting through the crowd and heading towards the direction the arrow was pointing.

 

* * *

 

Steve watched a big brawny gentleman step up on a small platform and look at the image on the wall, a soldier's uniform without a face. His reflection takes it’s place and his gal giggles, pulling him away, “Come on, _soldier_.”

They disappear and Steve stepped up on it, feeling spite fill his heart and weigh his fists as his nose sat in the collar and the helmet floated above his head on the reflection. Someone pushed him and Steve looks back, a sharp retort on his tongue. “C’mon,” Bucky says, “Yer missin’ the point ofa double date.”

Steve deflated a bit.

“We’re going’ out dancin,'” Bucky continues, unperturbed.

“You go ahead, I’ll catch up with ya.” Because Steve was still expecting a rejection, but he had to try. Bucky was shipping out tomorrow. His best friend, his lover, his everything will be gone and it’ll be just him and his anger stuck in an apartment the size of a postage stamp with nothing but his illegal job and watered down liquor he gets from the queer bar he works at.

Bucky paused and looked back at him, shifting to face Steve again. “Yer really gonna do this again?” he asked tonelessly.

Steve shrugged and looked around. “Well, it’s a fair, I’m gonna try my luck.”

“As who, Steve from Ohio? They’ll catch you, or worse, they’ll take you,” Bucky snapped.

Steve felt anger boiling up, so he said, as diplomatically as he could, “Look, I know you don’t think I can’t do it-”

“This isn’t a back alley, Steve, this is war-”

“I know it’s a war-!”

“Why are you so keen to fight? There are so many important jobs-”

“What am I gonna do, collect scrap metal in my little red wagon-"

“Yes!”

Oh, and Steve was pissed; he was pissed at having this same argument over and over, both sides bickering and swearing until it was time to go to bed and then they held each other so tightly that they both had bruises in the morning.

“I’m not gonna sit in a factory- _Bucky_ \- Bucky _come on_ , there are men laying down their lives," Steve finally got out. "I've got no right to do any less than them, that’s what you don’t understand. This ain’t about me. It’s never about me.”

“Right. Cuz’ you got nothin’ to prove,” Bucky said, and his eyes looked so sad that Steve physically ached. Steve let out a small sigh, feeling longing tug at his chest.

“Hey Sarge, you said you’d show us a good place to go dancing!” one of the girls called abruptly from down the steps.

Bucky looked back and made a wide motion with his arms, smiling, “Yes I did.” He turned back to Steve and breathed deeply for a second, steeling himself. He starts stepping back, looking around. “Don’t do anything stupid ‘til I get back.”

“How can I,” Steve responded. “You’re takin’ all the stupid with you.”

Bucky shook his head with a grin and walked back over, enveloping Steve in a big warm hug, a hug Steve’s always felt safe in. “Yer a punk.”

“Jerk,” Steve replied roughly, patting Bucky’s back in a friendly manner and withdrawing. “Be careful.” Bucky nodded and started walking away. “Don’t win the war ‘till I get there,” Steve added, a promise.

Bucky saluted him and then wandered off, pulling the ladies away. Steve watched the three go and then turned around, taking a breath and walking into the recruitment hall, passing a gentleman with glasses who subtly eyed him.

 

* * *

 

Steve had just finished the physical exam and was fastening the buttons on his shirt sleeve when a nurse walked in and whispered something into the doctors ear. He paused, and then looked back at Steve. “Wait here,” he requested.

“Is there a problem?” Steve asked.

“Just wait here,” the doctor repeated and then walked out with the woman. Steve watched suspiciously, nervously, as the curtain stopped moving. Steve looked behind his shoulder, seeing a sign that read, _‘It is illegal to falsify your enlistment form._ ’

Steve sat back and zoned off for a second. Then he moved quickly, thinking ‘Bucky was right,  _shit._ ’ He started frantically putting his shoes on, but a soldier with a helmet marked MP stepped in and watched him. Steve ceased all movement as his heart dropped. He didn’t want to go to jail again, not on Bucky’s last night. The curtain drew aside and an older gentleman stepped in.

The man said, ‘thank you’ to the soldier and the soldier nodded, stepping out. Steve was still wary, but his heart was calming down some. “So,” the man began with a slight German accent, opening the file in his hands. “You want to go overseas, kill some Nazis.”

“Scuse me?” Steve asked, bewildered and thrown off now. He thought he was going to get arrested, not asked questions about killing people.

“Doctor Abraham Erskine,” the gentleman introduced, stepping forward and offering his hand. “I represent the Strategic Scientific Reserve.”

Steve took it and shook. “Steve Rogers.” Erskine nodded and placed the file on the table, looking down at it.

“Where’re you from?” Steve asked on impulse.

“Queens,” Erskine said snippily. “73rd Street and Utopia Parkway.” Erskine shrugged. “Before that, Germany.” He looked at Steve, an eyebrow raised. “This troubles you?”

Steve shook his head and mumbled, “No,” honestly.

“Where are you from, Mr. Rogers? Is it… New Haven? Or Paramus? Five exams-” And Steve slumped a bit. Shit, he was getting arrested, wasn’t he? “-In five different cities.”

“That might not be the right file-” Steve says quickly, trying to save grace.

“No, it’s not the exams I’m interested in. It’s the five tries. But, you didn’t answer my question.” Erskine closed the file and stepped back over. “Do you want to kill Nazi’s?”

Steve looked away, thinking, and then back at Erskine. “Is this a test?”

Erskine blinked and then nodded, repeating with utmost seriousness, “Yes.” Even his word sounds weighted. Whatever he was selling was a serious deal.

Steve fumbled for words for a second and then said, “I don’t wanna kill anyone. I don’t like bullies. I don’t care where they’re from.”

Erskine nodded slightly in approval, giving a little smile. “Well, there are already so many big men fighting this war, maybe what we need now is a little guy, eh?”

Steve couldn’t believe his luck, he wasn't getting arrested, he was getting “-a chance,” Erskine said, almost warningly, like he wasn't sure how beneficial it would be to Steve. He spun and pulled the curtain aside, stepping over to the desk a few feet away. “Only a chance,” he added, as if the first warning tone wasn't enough.

“I’ll take it,” Steve says enthusiastically. He would take anything at this point.

“Good.” Erskine scanned the desk looking for a stamp. “So, where is the little guy from? Actually?”

“Brooklyn,” Steve said with a small grateful smile.

Erskine stamped the file with finesse and and handed it to Steve. “Congratulations, _soldier_.”

He walked away as Steve opened it to see what the doctor put down; a bold black 1A proudly stood out, pressed into the page. That inkling of hope for a miracle Steve was begging for tumbled to the surface.


	2. Recumbentibus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Recumbentibus: the knockout or ending blow, physical or verbal. The final winning argument.
> 
>  
> 
> (warning for bullying, physical and verbal!)

A week later, Steve was in fucking Jersey. Normally, he would mind more, but he was standing in line at a training camp still not believing his luck. He honest to god felt like he was in a dream, despite the helmet on his head and the too-big uniform he was currently wearing. He pinched himself and felt stinging pain in his thigh. Not a dream.

“Recruits! Attention!” a woman barked and Steve shifted into position, hearing shuffling from the other men as well. The woman walked in front of the lineup, eyeing the men before her. “Gentlemen, I’m Agent Carter. I supervise all operations for this division.”

“What’s with the accent, Queen Victoria?” a recruit asked. Steve looked to the sky and prayed for a god to give him strength.

“Thought I was signing up for the US army,” the man quipped, and Agent Carter looked at him, focus narrowed.

“What’s your name, soldier?” She asked.

“Gilmore Hodge, _your majesty_.”

“Step forward Hodge.” Hodge made a motion with his head and did so, stepping up to her cockily. She sized him up and said, “Put your right foot forward.”

“Ooh, we gonna wrestle?” he asked, flirty. Steve glared, disgusted, but he simply took the offered clipboard from Agent Carter's assistant and said nothing. “Cuz’ I gotta few moves I know you’ll like,” Hodge finished.

She decked him hard, hard enough to make him spin and fall on his face into the dirt, hands barely coming up in time to prevent him from faceplanting. Steve smiled and huffed a laugh of satisfaction. Serves the idiot right. What kind of man insults a woman and then comes onto her like that? Was he expecting a kiss on the lips?

“Agent Carter!” a man called and she turned, in something akin to guilt and embarrassment, like a kid caught red handed stealing a pack of gum.

“Colonel Phillips,” she said, saluting.

“I can see that you’re breaking in the candidates, that’s good!” He walked over, staring down at Hodge. “Get your ass up out of that dirt and stand in that line at attention until somebody comes and tells you what to do.”

Hodge scrambled up, sniffing to prevent a bloody nose from dripping. “Yes, sir!”

Steve watched Phillip look to both ends of the line, sizing up the recruits. “General Patton has said, ‘Wars are fought with weapons, but they are won by men.’” He started walking down the line, like an instructor at the front of their class. He had an odd way a speaking, giving a sort of pause at the end of every few words. “We are going to win this war because we have the best... “ He trailed off, staring at Steve. “Men.”

Steve’s anger made an appearance. He wanted to ask, ‘you got somethin’ to say?’ but he stayed quiet and didn’t make eye contact with Phillips.

Phillips looked over at Erskine with a sort of defeated questioning expression. He then continued, “And because they’re gonna get better. Much. Better,” he adds, walking away from Steve. 

“The Strategic Scientific Reserve is an allied effort made up of the best minds of the free world,” Phillips continued. “Our goal is to create the best army in history. But every army starts with one man. By the end of this week, we will choose that man. He will be the first in a new breed of super-soldiers, and they will personally escort Adolf Hitler to the gates of hell.”

And that sounded like a worthy enough goal to Steve.

 

* * *

 

Later, after they were all shown around, they were deposited in their bunks and began unpacking. Steve didn’t have a lot, so he just unpacked the books he brought, stashed his playing cards away, hid his wallet in his pillow, and kept his clothes in his trunk, safe under his bed.

The rest of them men roughed housed, brawling and teasing each other. None of them even tried to include Steve or talk to him and to be honest, he didn’t really want to talk to any of them either. They hadn't even let him sit with them during dinner. They chose a table and when Steve sat there, they all moved. He was stunned, momentarily, but then he just spitefully ate the shit the cafeteria served. Exclude him all they want, he was a candidate too and he was going to do his damn best to earn this opportunity. He didn’t even taste the food, too wrapped up in anger to figure out what it was.

So there he was, viciously storing his books and hiding his wallet.

He glared at his cards as he played solitaire and went to bed fuming.

He woke up to a bugle feeling like death. He had forgotten to sleep on his back and his spine was killing him. His scoliosis hated when he slept on his side and now it was kicking his ass. He dressed as quickly as he was able and walked with the rest of the group to the mess hall.

He got oatmeal-like slop and a black coffee that tasted like burnt dirt. When he was almost done with his mush he took a sip of coffee and almost spit it out at the taste of salt.

He turned shocked eyes on the men at the other table, wondering when they had the time for that, considering the culprits were laughing and pointing. Steve glared and caught Hodge's eye, bringing the cup to his lips and finishing it all, putting it down with an aggressive bang. Hodge looked shocked now, so did some of the others, but all in all they just looked upset that their plan failed.

After their meal was training and Steve honestly felt like he was going to die. After some basic obstacle courses that only he found difficult due to his size, strength, or pains in any part of his body at any given moment in time, they came the rope wall and Steve almost had hope. You didn’t have to be tall or particularly well coordinated for it, so he started climbing only for him to step up and the constantly moving rope to shift underfoot. His leg and hip locked in an awkward and painful position. He gasped and his foot slipped, tangling him in the rope as he lost his grip and found himself hanging upside down. This pulled at his leg and made the pain from his back and upper leg worse. The pain made him feel like vomiting.

“Rogers!” the drill sergeant cried angrily and the other soldier started laughing. Not one offered a hand like you're supposed to for a fellow soldier, and one kicked him in the side on the way up.

Filled with anger and humiliation, Steve righted himself and continued up. The other soldiers still outpaced him in everything, despite Steve’s desperation and fury fueled energy bursts.

He had an asthma attack during laps and four of them told them that asthma wasn't even a real thing and to get over it. Steve couldn’t breath well enough to tell them off, and found himself choking on dust soon after.

Lunch and diner followed in the same manner yesterday's did. He was shunned, ignored, or insulted for the entire thing. He was so angry that he wasn’t even hungry for anything.

 

* * *

 

The next day was no better. Breakfast found his coffee stolen and lunch left him hungry after Hodge took it out of his hands, simply saying 'Thanks for the extras.'

Steve felt faint during most of his exercises and he was honestly not sure how he made it through all of them. Sheer stubborn determination... maybe.

They were given guns for an exercise involving crawling under barbed wire and the candidate ahead of him turned, kicked the log keeping barbwire up till it was broken, and left Steve trapped and stuck under it. They all laughed like it was the funniest thing they ever saw. The only thing Steve could feel was anger and spite. He was going to rip someone's fucking leg off before the end of the day, he could feel it.

“Rogers! Get that rifle out of the mud!” the drill sergeant shouted, like it was his fault.

Steve could see nothing but red, but he complied. He didn't say a word, he didn’t protest, he just took it.

 

* * *

 

Day three was the worst yet. They went on a run and all Steve could feel was exhaustion and pain throughout all of it. He zoned out several times, but came back to himself when he stumbled or tripped. He was covered in sticky sweat and he felt like puking throughout all of it, but he kept his legs moving and his lungs breathing. Well, not so much that second one. He couldn’t breath at all and he’s surprised he didn’t pass out. He couldn’t stay in line with the other and by now the drill sergeant had given up on him. He let Steve run behind and didn’t check up on him.

If Steve had passed out, he might have died because nobody would have noticed and he’d have fried like a egg in the sun. His back protested every movement, he couldn’t actually feel his legs, his flat feet hurt, his chest was as hot and burning as the sun, and he was so thirsty. All he had that morning was salt coffee.

“Squad halt!” The sergeant suddenly demanded and Steve almost fell to his knees, so damn grateful for any kind of break. Steve struggled through wheezing breaths and listened to what the drill sergeant had to say.

“That flag means we’re only at the halfway point!” The sergeant pointed. The pole stood as a mockery to Steve's entire being. No, Steve though disbelievingly. He closed his eyes and prayed to actually die as he ran. It would be a mercy killing.

“First man to bring it back to me gets a ride with Agent Carter!”

Now Steve looked up, very interested at the prospect. 

“Move! Move!”

The mess of soldiers, excluding Steve, ran for the pole, all desperately and frantically trying to climb up. They squirmed over each other like rats over a can of garbage, shouting and calling out. They all encouraging Hodge in particular, as he got the farthest up, but even the best of them failed at the task.

“Nobody's got that flag in seventeen years!” the drill sergeant cried and hen they all failed to even climb to the halfway point the sergeant shouted, “Now fall back into line! Come on, fall in! Let’s go, get back into formation!” The men dutifully followed his instructions and Steve walked over to the pole, looking at it from top to bottom.

“Rogers! I said _fall in_!”

Steve ignored him and looked at the base of the pole. He pulled the pin out of the bar and jimmied the bar out as well, the pole giving a slight creak and then a loud thud as it hit dirt. Silence rang through the air as Steve limped over to the flag and gathered it up. He shoved it to the arms of the stunned drill instructor and said “Thank you, _sir_.”

He looked over and saw the faces of the others, all murderous and glaring. He was getting the shit beat out of him later, that was for sure, but he didn't care at this point, too tired to. He climbed into the back of the jeep, exhausted and finally able to breathe a little. Agent Carter smiled a bit at him and they were off. Steve fell asleep on the drive over and woke to Carter shaking him frantically.

“Oh,” she said surprised. “I thought you were dead for a second there. I couldn’t feel a pulse and you were a little clammy,” she explained.

“I gotta weak heart, n' palpitations, it’s hard sometimes,” Steve croaked. “Don’t worry about me, I ain’t dead.”

The rest of the soldiers got there in time for dinner and Steve saw that they were muttering between themselves and eyeing him. Yeah, the shit was getting beat out of him for humiliating them. He didn't care. He’d been beat up to many times throughout his life to care. He’d been bullied for so long he didn’t care. And honestly it was just gearing up for a usual Wednesday.

They stole his cards and scribbled in most of his books.

Steve was furious, but he didn’t say anything, just continued erasing the vulgar images and words off the pages. He wasn't even greatful that they used pencil.

 

* * *

 

Whatever they were planning to do happened later that night. He should have expected it because what else could they do? Steve was small, weak, an easy target. He humiliated them and they decided the best thing to do about it was get revenge.

He woke up to a hand over his mouth.

“Quick, the rope! He’s fighting like a bull!” someone said as Steve kicked out, trying to bite the hand cupped over his face. He got in a few good swings, hitting someone in the nose with his heel and another in the face with a wild fist, but eventually they bound his wrists, knees, elbows, and ankles. 

He managed to bite something, but he couldn't tell what it was, only tasted musky gross skin and feel blood in his teeth.

"Ow, _fuck_!" whoever Steve bit punched him in the stomach.

They dragged him out of bed and carried him through the halls, someone keeping a hand over his mouth. Steve tried shouting, but it was muffled and sounded too quiet to even his own ears. He continued to squirm and buck like a kangaroo, managing to surprise the other soldiers and hit them on the chin, or chest, or rake his uncovered hands down someone's cheek, feeling blood under his fingernails.

“Jesus christ, stop moving you little bitch!” Hodge hissed. “You dug your grave and now you’re going to lie in it!”

They threw him in the bed of a Jeep and Steve squirmed, trying to fight his way out of the rope. Fortunately, with this, the hand on his mouth was long gone. “Hey-!” Steve started before something was shoved in his mouth and tied around the back of his head. It tasted like dirty cloth, but it wasn't a sock, luckily.

Steve said ‘get fucked’ but it translated to muffled noises and angry glaring.

“Sit on him! Make sure he doesn't try to get away!”

Just like the order suggested, someone sat on his back, keeping him pinned. His arms pressed uncomfortably to his chest under him. He couldn’t breath well, as his lungs were just shitty anyway and his mouth was blocked by the rag.

The rest of the guys got in the jeep and started it up, driving it away.

Steve struggled and continued to kick and squirm and protest and swear. The person sitting on him put their hand on the back of Steve’s head and pushed down hard, smacking Steve’s head to the metal. Steve felt dizzy and stopped moving for a second, blinking past pain.

“Grab his feet, make sure he don’t kick ya!” Steve waited for the perfect moment and then slammed his heels back into the man’s eye, making him swear and shove Steve’s feet down a lot harder than he had to. And now Steve was totally pinned, so he just strained under the hands keeping him down. Steve snorted like an angry bull, vision red and fury pumping in his veins. The ride lasted for about fifteen minutes and then the car stopped abruptly, the other soldiers quickly getting out.

“C’mon, be quick! Get him over here!”

The weight on Steve’s back lifted and then so was he, quickly carried over to somewhere he couldn’t see. They put him on the ground for a moment and started to cut the rope around his ankles. Steve lashed out, his foot hitting Hodge in the chest.

“Fuck! Tie it! Tie it already!” Someone grabbed his second ankle and started wrapping rope around it and some sort of metal pole. He looked over, seeing the flag pole he downed earlier in all it’s white glory. And they were tying him to it. He frantically renewed his efforts, kicking and bucking and furiously punching out when they undid the rope around his hands. He clocked the one with glasses and then his wrists were grabbed again, this time tied behind his back and around the pole.

They left one leg free and then started cutting off his pants and shirt, Steve spitting mad, but didn't want to get nicked as he squirmed and pulled at his bonds. Once he was stripped down to his underwear, arms secure as well as his one foot, they pushed the pole back upright, Steve dangling upside down and one leg pointing towards the horizon as a sort of bastardized version of a flag.

The soldier all started laughing as they put the bar back into place along with the metal pin.

“Oh, say, can you see~” Hodge sang, saluting, only to start cackling again. The rest of them joined in and started slapping each others back with the hilarity of it all. Steve glared down at them, already feeling blood starting to pool in his head.

“Sorry, cock sucker, guess you’ll have to wait another seventeen years to get down!”

They all piled back up in the jeep and drove away, whooping and cheering, leaving Steve stuck tied to the pole. His wrists and ankle were already rope burned from his struggling and he was cold from the night air. Based on the sky, it wouldn’t be night for long, but everything ached from the fight and his leg felt like it was being pulled off.

His anger drifted off, still present but no longer useful. He couldn’t untie his wrists or ankle, so he’d just have to wait for help. This trail was used often, wasn’t it? Now he really wasn’t sure.

Maybe he should try getting down himself. He twisted his wrists experimentally, realizing that that wasn’t going to work anytime soon. Steve bent to touch his toes and, after a few agonizing tries, got the rope over the top of the pole. He worked that over his outstretched leg and pulled off the rag tied around his head, one thing on his mind; punching Hodge in the teeth.

 He glared through the night and started chewing off the bond on his wrists.

* * *

 

Phillips looked at the line-up, frowning in suspision. Almost every single one of them had bruises over their faces and Hodge had claw marks down his cheek, still scabbing over. One of the soldiers had a bite on his hand. His gaze swept over the group, counting the number of soldiers before him. 

“Where is Rogers?” Erskine asked next to him worriedly, eyes searching for the small blonde with concern.

“That is exactly what I intend to figure out!” Phillips announced. “And one of these boys is going to tell me. Whatever you did clearly didn’t work as well as you thought because the evidence of him fighting back is written all over your-” Philips pinched Hodges cut cheek, making the boy yelp. “Guilty faces. I gotta hand it to the little guy, he puts up one hell of a fight."

Nobody said anything.

“How’s cleaning duty sound? Every bathroom on base with nothing but your toothbrushes. In the buck ass nude.”

Still nobody said anything, but their gazes shift behind Erskine and Phillips, eyes widening. Phillips looks back to see a nearly naked Rogers storming over, fury in his eyes and wrapping some rope around his hand.

“Steven!” Erskine says, and then they both notice the black eye, the rope burns, the purple bruise on his stomach, the bleeding feet leaving red steps in his wake.

Rogers stormed over and slammed his fist into Hodges face. “Next time you tie a guy to a flagpole, you better make sure he fuckin’ stays there!” Rogers snarled at the fallen soldier, who was clutching his gushing nose. Rogers whirled around to looks at the rest of the soldiers, pointing threatingly. “And the rest of you can _get fucked_!”

They all flinched back, wide eyed and hands up, backing away.

Rogers sneered, “Oh, ain’t it funny how you bullies turn into cowards as soon as Colonel Phillips is around? You aren’t fucking laughing now, huh?! You’ve all got so much goddamn potential and you waste it on tying people to flag poles and laughing like fuckin' hyenas. You think you’re all so much better because you're big and strong, well newsflash, you're just fucking assholes! No better than the people we’re actually supposed to fight.”

The men all look at their feet.

“Grow a spine,” Rogers spat and then stormed off, bloody feet and all.

“This is the second time I’ve had to tell you to get your ass up out of that dirt,” Phillips said to Hodge.

 

* * *

 

The next day started with push ups and jumping jacks, both of which were a bitch on Steve’s ankles and feet. His back hurt, his joints ached, but he actually felt refreshed, if exhausted and pained. His coffee wasn’t salty, he ate all his food, and nobody even looked at him today.

But he still sucked at pushups.

And jumping jacks.

He was shaken out of his zoning out stage when Phillips shouted “Grenade!”

Everyone yelped and scrambled out of the way, but Steve only had eyes for the explosive in front of him. He slid over, only thought being ‘if they won’t, I will.’ He laid on it, shouting for everybody to get back. He was scared as hell, because of course he didn't want to die, but he certanly didn't want more people to die because he cowered like the rest of those assholes. But it didn’t go off, no matter how much Steve expected it to. He opened his eyes as other started calling that it was a dummy grenade. He sat up, looking around, and his gaze landed on Phillips and Erskine, both carefully observing him.

“Is this a test?” Steve asked, a little dazed.

Erskine smiled, but he looked like he was trying not to. He glanced at Phillips pointedly and the colonel grumbled something as he walked off.

Later that night, after he washed off, wrapped his raw feet and wrists, and found himself alone in the bunk room, he read in peace, ignoring the throbbing of his stinging feet and ache of his wrists. Most of his books were about war tactics and artillary, so he found himself reading carefully, stashing away little notes in his mind.

He remembered that the reason nobody else was there was because Steve had been selected for the serum and he zoned out, rereading the same sentance five or six times, thinking about the implications of that. He was anxious about tomorrow, wondering exactly what would happen.

The door creaked open and Steve tensed, looking behind himself. Erskine smiled from the doorway. “May I?”

“Uh, yeah,” Steve said, waving him over to sit on the other bed. The empty bed.

“Can’t sleep?”

“Got the jitters, I guess,” Steve admitted.

Erskine laughed. “Me too.” Steve noticed that he had two glasses and a bottle in his hands. He couldn’t see the label, but it looked like good stuff, nothing like the watered down crap Steve served at the queer bar. He has to admit, he'd like to know how it tastes.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Just one?” Erskine asked.

Steve waited until Erskine got settled and then simply said, “Why me?” The others, though bullies, were stronger, faster, and better soldiers than he was. They would be great on the front lines, great in the mess of war.

Erskine seemed to try to figure out what words to use. “I suppose that is the only question that matters,” he allowed. He toyed with the top of the bottle and said, “This is from Augsburg. My city.” He showed the label, as if he expected Steve to recognize it.

He looked up at Steve to make sure he was listening and then continued with his story. “So many people foget that the first country the Naizs invaded was their own. You know, after the last war there, my- my people struggled. They felt weak, they felt small, then Hitler comes along with the marching and the big show, and the flags, and the- the-” Erskine took a breath, either not sure where to go, or not wanting to say. Steve nodded in understanding anyway. Propaganda.

“He hears of me, of my work, and he finds me. He says, “ _You_ ” he says, “ _You will make us strong_.” And, well, I am not interested.” Erskine shrugs. “So he sends the head of Hydra, his research devision, a brilliant scientist by the name of Johann Schmitt. Now, Schmitt is a member of the inner circle, and he is ambitious. He and Hitler share a passion for occult power and tatanic myth. Hitler uses his fantasies to inspire his followers, but for Schmidt it is not fantasy. For him, it is real. He has become convinced that there is a great power, hidden in the earth left here by the gods. Waiting to be seized by superior men. So when he hears about my formula and what it can do, he cannot resist. Schmidt wants to become that superior man.”

Steve thought about that. A man mad with power using Erskine's serum to become a 'superior' man. It sounds fantastical, and arrogant. He found himself despising Schmitt already, a person who thinks himself superior to others isn't a man Steve likes.

“Did it make him stronger?” Steve asked.

“Ja. But-” Erskine grimaced a bit. “There were other effects. The serum was not ready. But, more important, the man. The serum amplifies everything that is inside so good becomes great, bad becomes worse.”

There's a silence where Steve looked at the bottle of schnapps placed on the floor. The serum amplified everything that was inside, he considered, and remembered his anger, his passion, his flaws. Worsened.

“This is why you were chose,” Erskine said and Steve looked up, surprised. “Because a strong man who has known power all his life will lose respect for that power. But a weak man knows the value of such strength and knows compassion.”

Steve frowned a bit. “Thanks.” His lips quirked up as he looked at Erskine. “I think.”

Erskine smiled and gestured for Steve to grab the cups next to him. Steve did so quickly, holding both out so Erskine could pour the schnapps.

“Whatever happens tomorrow, you must promise me one thing; that you will stay who you are. Not a perfect soldier, but a. Good. Man.” Erskine pointed at Steve’s heart to punctuate the words and Steve smiled.

Steve took a breath and put out his glass. “To the little guys.”

Erskine laughed and tapped their glasses together. Steve made to drink but Erskine made a noise and grabbed the glass. “No, no, wait, what am I doing? You have a procedure tomorrow. No fluids.”

Steve sighed in disappointment, watching Erskine pour Steve’s glass into his own. “Alright, we’ll drink it after.”

“No,” Erskine said, borderline scandalized. “I don’t have a procedure tomorrow, drink it tomorrow, drink it now.” And he knocked back the glass.

Steve smiled a bit and then sighed. “So the serum makes everything inside more? Than why _are_ you picking me? I’m an angry Brooklynite. I get in fights all the time. Sometimes I feel like the injustice of everything's gonna crash down on me like a pail of cement and I’m so angry I nearly can’t move.”

Erskine looked at him again. “Perhaps that is precisely why, Steven. Perhaps that is precisely why.”

Steve blinked at Erskine.

“Nobody even won a war feeling nothing but internal peace and happiness for the situation,” Erskine pointed out as he stood up. “And again, a weak man who has no power knows the value of strength. You, Steven, have seen many people abuse their power and you stand up to it. That is why I picked you.”


	3. Vanguard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nodus Tollens: the realization that the plot of your life doesn't make sense to you anymore.

The next day found Steve unharassed and in the backseat of a car next to Carter. He was still in a dazed state from it all, so he looked out the window and perked up. “Hey, I know this neighborhood.” He pointed. “I got beat up in that alley.” And Bucky had come to get him out of that mess. They pass a little ways and Steve continued. “And that parking lot.” A little further. “And behind that diner,” he trailed off, looking at his raw wrists, realizing how pathetic that sounded.

“Did you have something against running away?” Carter asked suddenly.

Steve looked out the front window. “You start runnin,’ they’ll never let you stop. My ma always told me to keep getting up because if you stand up, push back, well, they can’t say no forever, right?”

“I know a little of what that’s like,” she said and Steve felt doubt for a second before remembering that she was a woman who joined the military. What she had to go through to get this far must have been tough. But Steve can’t help but think of how many times he’s been afraid for his life because he’s been queer, how many jobs he’s lost because he was sick, how many people spat and sneered at him because he was small and weak and Irish and a 'burden on society.'

“To have every door shut in your face,” she added.

“It ain’t a walk in the ball park, that’s for sure. Especially for a dame, I suppose. A woman-” he swiftly corrected. “Not a dame, a woman- an agent that’s-”

She looked at him incredulously. “You have no idea how to talk to a woman, do you?”

Steve laughed slightly. “I think this is the longest conversation I’ve had with one. Women aren’t exactly my forte,” he says and then cursed himself when he realized what he just said. He quickly added. “Women aren’t exactly lining up to dance with a guy they could step on."

“You must have danced,” she said.

“A little, I suppose. But not well, and not for very long. Last couple of years, it didn’t seem so important either. I guess I’m still waiting to find-” what he meant was ‘reunite with' “-the right partner.” Bucky always danced so well, always liked showing off. Plus, Steve only knows how to dance the girl parts, since that’s what Bucky taught him when they danced together, shuffling across their old wooden floor and listening to their cheap record player.

The car pulled up outside an antique shop and Steve frowned at it in confusion. Carter urged him out and the pair walked towards it, up and inside. “What’re we doin’ here?” Steve asked, glancing around.

“Just follow me,” she says.

Inside is a lovely shop, to be true, and an old woman steps out to greet them, silver hair shining in the light. “Wonderful weather this morning, isn’t it?” she asked, almost stiffly though she wore a neat smile.

“Yes, but I always carry an umbrella,” Carter replied.

The old woman walked over to the desk and touched something under it. Peggy nodded and led Steve to a backroom with a large bookshelf. She stood in front of it, looking expectant, and in a few seconds it opened like a set of double doors. Carter stepped through, Steve on her heels. By this time Steve had realized that the shop was an SSR base in disguise, but it was still fascinating to see the sterile hallways and bright lights overhead. Soldiers were stationed in every doorway and agents bustled about, holding files and equipment.

Carter and he finally arrived at their destination, a pair of doors that lead into a large open room full of scientists and machinery. Steve walked over slowly and put his hands on the railing, looking down into the pit. In the center, he first noticed, was a strange device that reminded him too much of a coffin, though the green made him think of hospitals.

Suddenly the scientists and doctors below him went silent, all staring up at him. He couldn't begin to tell what they were thinking, but he knew that these men were about to do something to him based on the way the air in the room seemed to freeze.

Suddenly all the dread and anticipation he had been forcing down burst to the surface and his nerves made his heart rate pick up. He took a slight breath and let it out. Carter caught Steve's attention by the time the talking picked back up and both of them walked down the steps, their shoes clanging on the metal.

Upon reaching the bottom, Steve and Carter headed for Erskine, the only familiar face there. “Good morning,” Erskine said with a light smile, shaking Steve’s hand. A light flashed next to them and Erskine scowled at the photographer. “Please, not now.” The man ducked away and Steve looked back at the doctor and then at the device, the device that would either kill him or turn him into something beyond his comprehension.

“Are you ready?” Erskine asked.

Steve felt like if he spoke he was going to throw up, so he nodded.

“Good. Now, take off your shirt, your tie, and your hat.” Erskine pointed as he instructed Steve and Steve went to do so in that order, floundering when he realized that was the opposite of how he wanted to undress. He handed his hat to a nurse and then undid his tie and unbuttoned his shirt. With those gone, Steve was instructed to climb up into the machine and lay down. He did so hesitantly, his mind whirling and working faster than his body did. He was mentally praying for it to work, writing a last love letter to Bucky, and cursing the fact that his last meal was burnt beans and something that certainly wasn’t meat.

The leather was cool against his back, and he felt cramped despite looking up into open space.

Erskine came up alongside him. “Comfortable?”

“I’ve had worse,” Steve joked anxiously. He was telling himself that this was it, no turning back as an attempt to calm himself. “You save me any’a that schnapps?”

Erskine signed. “Not as much as I should have,” he admitted. “Sorry. Next time.” Erskine looked down at his file and asked. “Mr. Stark? How are your levels?”

Steve looked over at him, frowning. Howard Stark came up and looked down at Steve in excitement. Steve felt like a lab rat or a test tube of something under his gaze. “Levels at one hundred percent. We may dim half the light in Brooklyn, but we are ready.” He looked giddy, Jesus Christ.

Steve momentarily thought ‘shit, this guy helped make this serum stuff too?’ because he was remembering the failed flying car that sparked and fizzled and crashed. Now he was pretty certain he was going to die, but at least he’d go out with a bang. “As we’ll ever be,” Stark added, quieter. And that did not help at all. In fact, it only made it worse. A nurse fastened a strap around Steve’s lower chest and Erskine guided Carter up the stairs.

Erskine grabbed a microphone and tapped it a few times. “Can you hear me? Is this on?”

With confirmation, Erskine began. “Ladies and gentlemen, today we take, not another step towards annihilation, but the first step on the path to peace. We begin with a series of micro-injections-” injections which were now being loaded up into the machine Steve was in. “-into the subjects major muscle groups, the serum infusion will cause immediate cellular change. And then, to simulate the serums distribution throughout the body and access the full limits of its potential, the subject will be saturated in vita-rays.”

A nurse reached over and stuck a needle in his shoulder, giving him a shot of something. He winced purely because he didn’t like needles or the way they felt.

“Ow,” Steve muttered.

“It was just penicillin,” Erskine said.

“Yeah, well, this next part's not gonna get any better.”

Erskine looked over at the others. “Serum infusion, being in 5. 4-” the injector panels came down to press against Steve’s skinny arms and he could feel the tell tale bite of needles against his arms. Erskine put his hand on Steve’s shoulder to ground him. “-3. 2. 1.”

And no mercy from that point on. He felt maybe a dozen needles press in and could practically feel the serum pumping into his veins. Steve groaned from the pain and discomfort.

“Now, Mr. Stark,” Erskine said and Steve felt the machine moving around him, watching at the chamber closed up, sealing him inside. He felt trapped, claustrophobic, and small inside.

There was a knock. “Steven? Can you hear me?”

“It’s probably too late to go to the bathroom, right?” Steve asked not because he had to go, but because he was fucking terrified.

“We will proceed.”

Steve didn’t hear much after that, but a bright white light overtook him. He could hear Stark calling numbers, but he couldn’t quite make out which ones. He didn’t feel pain, but around the fifth time Stark spoke, Steve felt itching along his spine and goosebumps dancing over his skin.

Then it started hurting, really really hurting.

He didn’t know he was screaming from the pain of it all until they started shouting at each other to turn off the machine. Steve could hear everybody's frantic steps and orders, he could practically feel the panic in the air. Well, maybe the panic as his own.

“No!” Steve shouted, the words ripping out of his throat despite the agonizing pain in every cell of his being. “Don't! I can do this!” His skin felt like it was on fire, a bright, shattering, radioactive pain that came in crashing waves and only got worse as the power went up and up.

But he could do it. He’s managed pain before, when his lungs were burning just as bad and sickness made him feels just as terrible. When each step back to camp left blood between his toes and a sharp pain shooting up his legs.

There was a silence outside and then- “Eighty…”

He felt like he was being rewritten, everything burning and aching and twisting. His lungs felt like magma, his spine like it was splitting, his eyes like they were smoking out of his sockets, and his ear was ring like mad. He could barely see through the bright white light engulfing him.

“Ninety…”

The pain worsened, but Steve clenched his jaw and strained against the bonds keeping him secure. The pressure against his chest reminded him of something other than the pain, other than the burning fire in his veins and the magma behind his eyes.

“That's _one hundred percent_!”

His vision was giving, and he felt like he was going to pass out from the smoldering heat that was now in his head. His skull was certainly splitting from all of this, blood pouring out of his ears, and he had to be crying by now, but he couldn’t tell. He felt detached, only the stabbing shards keeping him awake and present.

Then it suddenly stopped.

Steve’s eyes snapped open and he gasped for air, the light shutting off as the pain was sucked out of him like venom. Steve moaned softly and slumped against the belt across his chest. It snapped from the weight and Steve fumbled. “Shit,” he swore, sort of falling forward just as the tube started opening.

He grabbed the edges of the chamber door and stumbled when one snapped off in his hand. He stood dumbly, holding the left side door in one hand with no effort. By turning his wrist, he could look at the front and back of the door. It was solid metal and miscellaneous mechanical equipment installed into the inside. It probably weighed about two hundred pounds total, and it felt like he was holding a brick… and that was stretching it.

Suddenly startled, he dropped the door, listening to the loud clang it made when it hit the floor, making it obvious that he should not have been able to lift that with ease. “Sorry,” he said, because he really hadn’t meant to break that.

“No, no, you’re fine,” Erskine trailed off. “Enhanced strength is to be expected. You must simply get used to it.”

“Well, that’s new,” Stark said, kicking at the broken door. “Did nothing for your physique, though.”

Steve didn’t respond to that, looking at his wrists, now completely healed. He touched his eye, rubbing carefully and feeling no pain from the bruise that was supposed to be there. A couple of scientists attempted to drag the door away, only managing when three of them worked as a team.

Steve shook his head a bit and then snapped by his left ear. “I’m not half deaf anymore,” he said, surprised.

“Anything else you can tell?” Stark asked as someone handed him a shirt. Steve threw it on and started checking after wiping sweat from his forehead.

Steve put a hand to his chest and breath in, surprise that it came so easy. “No asthma?” Not that some people thought it was a real condition, he thought spitefully. Next, he looked around, squinting at the bright lights. Everything was so vivid and colorful. He didn’t recognize some of it and it felt like he was staring at an alien world. “I don’t think I’m color blind.” He probably needed someone to tell him what some of these colors are.

Steve wiggled his toes, feeling no pain from the rope burns that were supposed to be there or the scabs on his feet. He looked back and brought up a heel, running a thumb over the arch there. “No more flat feet.”

He put his foot down and felt his pulse. It didn’t take long to find it this time, it was strong and steady. “No heart trouble?” He stood up straight and reached back to feel along his spine. “My spine is straight.”

“I’m willing to bet your anemia is gone too,” Stark said. “Let's do some tests.”

And that was when the observation deck exploded into shrapnel and showers of glass, a bright ball of orange fire and black smoke forcing its way into the room.

Steve ducked his head and in the chaos a man drew a gun and fired twice at Doctor Erskine. The shots registered after Steve watched Erskine jerk with each impact and slump to the floor. Shocked, Steve dropped to his knees beside the man and looked over the wounds. He moved to put pressure on one, but Erskine grabbed his hand and caught his attention.

Erskine brought up a shaky hand and tapped Steve twice over his heart, letting out a sigh and closing his eyes. He was dead. Gone, his pulse absent. The only person who believed in Steve other than Bucky was gone.

Steve had always been angry, always felt injustice and spite and the hot-blooded pounding of his heart. With the serum, anger became rage, it made him feel like he was burning alive and he let the new, amplified feeling fill him from head to toe. He looked at where the shooter was to find Peggy vanishing through the door after the gunman.

Steve’s mad dash after her reminded him of a hunter chasing its prey. Surprised at his own speed and agility, he sped through the shop and burst outside just in time to see Agent Carter take several shots at a car careening towards her. In less than a thought, Steve tackled her out of the way.

“I had him!” She protested angrily.

“You woulda gotten hit,” Steve snapped, getting up and looking at where the car was going. “I’m going after him.”

Running felt different, he noticed as he zipped along like a bullet. It was easier, he was faster, and he had no trouble breathing at all. He felt like he could run forever like this. His new strength made him feel like he was wearing new shoes that actually fit, but luckily he was used to how this body moved and managed to avoid accidents. He slipped between crowds, jumped over fences, and ran on top of cars. Sure, he didn't do it well because he'd never even been able to run this far or like this, but by god he did it.

He landed on the taxi and held onto the sign on top of it, the pads of his feet resting on the roof for a little bit of friction to keep him steady. The driver spun and turned the taxi, trying to get him to fall off. He swerved down a well-used street by the docks and Steve nearly slid off the side.

He flinched violently when a shot was fired up at him, and again when it happened a foot away from the first tiny hole. With the third bullet, Steve no longer had anything in his hands and when the murderer swerved Steve fell off the side, barely managing to grab onto the window and pull himself up to look at the driver. The man aimed for Steve, but both looked forward in time to see that they were careening towards a large truck. They clipped it hard and almost instantly the taxi started flipping. Steve jumped ship immediately, rolling with the impact and skidding to his feet.

The man crawled out of the wreckage and fired a shot at Steve, making people yell and scream. The noise startled the gunman and he whirled around wildly, not caring where he gun pointed. Steve started moving forward, but the gun was being swung his way again. Steve grabbed the closest thing on hand, the car door, and put that up just in time to catch two bullets.

“No! No! Not my son!” a woman shouted and Steve dropped the door, watching the murderer grab a small boy as a human shield, hefting him up and backing away, gun pointed at Steve as he jogged closer. Steve ducked behind a wall and flinched back as the man fired. When he scrambled away, Steve followed, and they continued that pattern a second time.

Steve poked his head around a wall and saw the man catch his eye, pointing the gun at the boy’s head.

“Wait! Don’t!” Steve said, coming out and putting his hands up. The man pointed the gun at Steve and he tensed, ready to move at any moment. The boy continued to struggle and the murderer decided the boy had been enough trouble, tossing him into the river.

“No! Don’t!”

The murderer ran and Steve sped over to the edge, relieved to see the boy paddling at the surface. “Go get him! I can swim!” the boy said.

“Get back to your mother,” Steve ordered as he raced after the Nazi.

Steve got there in time to see a machine hum to life and start diving under the water. Without a second thought, he dived into the river after the submarine. Treading water, he noticed that swimming amazingly easy and his lungs didn’t so much as burn for as long as he was down there. He caught up quickly, grabbing the fin of the U-boat and using it as leverage as he punched the window out, glass shattering under his fist as he grabbed at the man’s collar roughly, rattling him.

Steve braced his feet against the sub and grabbed the edge of the glass barrier, ripping the entire thing clean off in his anger before dragging the Nazi to the surface.

Steve threw the man up over the side of the canal and shoved him onto the ground. The man lashed out with a knife, but Steve jerked back to avoid it, kicking the murder in the face to prevent him from standing up.

“Who are you?” Steve growled, grabbing the man by the collar, his other fist raised and ready to strike.

“The first of many. Cut off one head-” the man did something funny with his mouth and bit down on something that cracked like glass “-two more shall take its place. Heil. Hydra!” The man’s mouth started foaming and Steve dropped him, disgusted. The man died slumped against the soaked concrete, the blue liquid of the serum dripping into the drain nearby.

Steve didn't feel any sympathy for him.

 

* * *

 

Almost as soon as he was transported back, he was put into a hospital room. Steve was still in shock as they took his blood, a good deal more than he should have been able to produce, and carted it away, saying that it was the only chance of replicating the serum.

Steve watched the little prick scab over and heal in a matter of minutes. “He deserved better than this,” Steve said to Carter. “Erskine. He deserved better than this.”

“If it could work only once, he’d be proud it was you,” she replied, with sad knowing looking her eye.

Most of the senators and observers were carted away, but not before Steve heard them discuss what they could use Steve for and for him to get angry about it. By the time Steve was done with the hospital room, only Phillips and a few men Steve didn’t know were left in the facility. Carter led Steve to the workshop where Stark was looking over the submarine and where those men were discussing the attack.

“-how a German spy got a ride to my secret installation in your car. What do we got here?” Phillips directed this last bit at Stark.

“Speaking modestly, I’m the best mechanical engineer in the country,” Stark informed them. “But I don’t know what’s inside this thing or how it works. We’re not even close to this technology.”

“And who is?”

“Hydra,” Phillips answered the unknown man. “I’m sure you’ve been reading out briefings.”

“I’m on a number of committees, Colonel,” the man said stiffly.

“Hydra is the Nazi deep science division,” Carter informed them as Steve and she walked over. “It’s led by Johan Schmitt, but he has much bigger ambitions.”

“Hydra’s practically a cult. They worship Schmitt. They think he’s invincible,” Phillips elaborated.

“So what are you going to do about it?” the man asked.

“I spoke to the president, as of today, we are being retasked.” Phillips turned and looked at Agent Carter. “We are taking the fight to Hydra. Pack your bags, Carter, Stark. Rogers, a word.”

Phillips drew Steve to the side. “Erskine promised me an army, and all I got was you. I have half a mind to send you back where you came from or hand you off to one of those bozos.” He gestured to the men looking at the sub in interest. “Because I doubt we’ll be able to make any more of you with the serum gone and the Doc’s notes stuffed inside his brain.”

“Sir, please, I can still fight,” Steve said. “I heard what they wanted to make of me, but I ain’t no show dog. I’m scrawny, short as hell. No matter all this hidden muscle, I still can’t reach the top bookshelf. If they make me the face of America, we’ll be the laughing stock of the Allies.”

“You got a point there, kid,” Philips agreed. “So I’m giving you a chance. I’m considering letting the SSR use you as infiltration, a spy. Can’t say you’d be any good at it though. Not much subtle about you.”

Steve huffed a laugh.

“But what America really needs right now is a role model,” Phillips continued. “And if we can’t make you the face of America, I’ll be damned if we can’t make you the name of it. You’ll be subject to a few months of specialized training to find out just what you can do and what kind of equipment you’ll find out there. If you accept, there will be a downside. We’ll have to erase all your records, history, identity and make you a person who never even existed. You’ll be known only by a code name, and with that code name you will be the army I never got to have. That being, what you accomplish will be broadcasted over the radio to boost moral, sell war bonds, and help out the war effort as a whole. Are you up for it, Rogers?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good man. Pack your bags. You’re headed to England with Agent Carter. She will be in charge of training you and teaching you to speak German.”

“What?”

“Infiltration boy, didn’t you hear? Best we can do with you is short term, couple of hours posing as a German soldier to set charges or break into a facility, but it’ll do. Don’t disappoint me.”

That night, Steve asked around and eventually found Erskine's room, the schnapps on the desk along with papers in bizarre code. He finished it off and pretended that everything was okay. It tasted just as good as he thought it would and he wiped at his wet eyes.

 

* * *

 

They took a boat to England and Steve quickly decided he hated water and boats. He didn’t like the way they rocked or the endless expanse of water. Made him feel smaller than he already was. Despite this, Steve was constantly busy. Agent Carter drilled him everyday below deck. She taught him how to fight with everything he had. How to use everything that was on hand to his advantage, how to fight dirty and vicious and quickly.

Carter trained him in German. He was expected to respond and study books on German every waking hour. He was drilled into the ground in German, lived German, and fought German. If his accent slipped, she would slap him hard and demanded him repeat himself. If he lost a fight against her, he would have to do push ups until his fingers got blisters and healed over.

She trained him in basic gymnastics and some martial arts, though she always stressed that form wasn’t as important in an actual fight. She said speed, agility, strength, dodging, and not getting in an actual fight was most important. He was expected to put a stop to threats before they became one.

He learned to fire, clean, reload, and store every gun on the ship. He learned to do it blindfolded and then he learned to do it with one hand.

The sailors didn’t pay them any attention, just went about their business with the firm command to pretend that they didn’t even exist.

Steve did get breaks, but it was usually when it was so dark that only the stars and moon shone. He visited Stark in his cramped lab when he could, marveling over the trinkets. Stark filled the room with all the things he wanted to bring, barely any room for the tiny cot shoved in there with Stark.

Steve blinked at the metal disk in front of him, curiosity burning at his hands. “What’s this made outta?” He grabbed it, noting the size. It was on the large side, but only for him. It was two and a half feet in diameter, so a little larger than the average man’s shoulder width.

Stark looked over, preening a bit as he explained. “Vibranium. It's stronger than steel, and a third of the weight. It's completely vibration absorbent.”

“How come it's not standard issue?”

“That's the rarest metal on Earth. What you're holding there? That's all I’ve got.”

“Where did you get it?”

“Well,” Stark said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Africa. With some pulled strings.” Stark coughed into his fist awkwardly.

Steve twirled it and fell in love. It was perfect. He wasn’t bulletproof, but this sure looked it. He suddenly remembered grabbing a trashcan lid to fend off that asshole in that back alley. Was that really just nearly a month ago? Didn't matter, but he felt a surge of satisfaction when he realized it would finally work as a brilliant defense.

Peggy opened the door and stepped in, holding a file. “Rogers? There you are. I believe you forgot that you have some business to attend to.”

Steve showed the shield. “What do you think?”

Peggy considered it for a second and grabbed a gun off the table beside her, aiming at the shield and firing all six rounds. Frightened, Steve crouched and ducked behind the shield, managing to cover his entire body with it.

When the gunfire stopped, Steve looked over the edge.

“Yes, I think it works,” she said, not caring about the startled men in front of her. < _Now, would you please complete the diagnostic on the Jeep engine?_ >

 _< Yes, ma'am,_> he said uneasily and watched her walk away. Steve looked over at Stark. “I want it. Think you can paint it black? And they said you’d be designing my uniform. I had some ideas I thought you could use.”

“Whatever you want, pal,” Stark said, taking the slip of paper Steve passed over. He looked at it. “If you took off the gear, you could fit this under clothing,” he noted, turning it in hand for another angle. “More or less.”

“That’s the idea. I’m infiltration. Can’t go in looking like I’m there to start some shit, but I can look like a newbie in a too-big uniform.”

“Smart guy.”

Later, in the morning, Stark showed Steve plans to cut the shield into five parts that would reform into the complete shape when he needed it. The technology was surprisingly simple and small, to the point where he barely even noticed it when Stark showed the prototype. An added bonus was that Steve could retract a single fifth and use the opening for a gun, a great way not to get your hand shot off. Either way, it only took four clicks for it to go from the tiny triangle to the much bigger circle. Peggy and Steve agreed to the modification on the basis that the shield could then fit into a small bag or large briefcase.

At night, when the crew started switching out and relaxing, Steve went below deck to play poker and drink with the other guys. Sometimes they made him wrestle, which was a lot of fun. He got a chance to use what he learned and figure out what to expect from people. It was extra studying, technically.

It was those sailors who set up bottles and encouraged Steve to try to hit them with his shield, howling with laughter when the shield bounced back and knocked him on his ass.


	4. Keyframe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keyframe: A moment that seemed innocuous at the time but ended up marking a diversion into a strange new era of your life.

They landed in England and were quickly transported to an SSR base where Peggy continued to teach Steve all he needed to know. A variety of weapons were assembled and disassembled. He learned about the equipment he might use in the field and how to set up explosives.

 _ <Learning to speak German is not that bad> _ Steve said to Peggy the second month into his lessons, his mouth chewing around the new words as his mind translated. _ <It’s actually relatively easy.> _

_ <You’d be the first to say so. Perhaps the serum made you able to pick things up easier> _ she replied. _ <I had not expected you to reach fluency until perhaps a year into lessons. It has only been two months and I am quickly running out of things to teach you.> _

Steve thought about that. _ <It makes sense that the serum enhanced my mind. I was always sharp, if not particularly smart.> _

She nodded. “So now you understand how to fly a plane?”

“Well, we’re not dead yet,” Steve returned in English, gesturing with one hand to the control wheel.

She looked at her notebook. “We’re scheduled to land eight miles ahead.”

“Here’s hoping for a smooth landing,” he said. _ <To not dying.> _

_ <To not dying> _ she agreed. _ <Sums up the war pretty well, don’t you think?> _

“Ja.”

“Your accent is quite good too. You may be one of the best yet.”

“Danke.”

 

* * *

 

The good news was that because of his constant training with Peggy and his ability to quickly pick up on things, he had time to do some sketches, especially sketches of Bucky. After Steve had been effectively erased from existence, the apartment had been cleaned out of the evidence that Steve lived, including his art. Now the apartment was only rented under Bucky’s name, though part of Steve’s pay went toward it.

Not existing didn’t annoy him, he had to say, but he also only got his letters monthly in a stack, tied with twine, and he could only send a maximum of one letter each month. He wrote that letter under his initials and sent it to Bucky every time without fail, managing to tell Bucky that he didn’t have the time to write much, but read every letter he got when he got it.

Stark finished Steve’s uniform by the end of the second month in London and made Steve try it on. The pants were black skin tight cargo jeans that also had socks attached to the end so he could slip into a second pair of pants easily. His shirt was a little loose, though it still fit, and he had a pair of fitted gloves to go with it. The uniform came with six holsters, four for guns and two for knives. He had a gun under each armpit and one on either side of his hips. The first knife was strapped between his shoulder blades and the second was on his calf.

He wore darkened aviator goggles with the same glass used in a one-way window and a black helmet that was just a bit too big. The helmet came with two things; a chin strap, so it didn't go flying off, and a sort of black mask. The mask itself was shaped like a head but left only his face exposed. When he put it on the only part of skin visible was his mouth, nose, and jaw. His ears, hair, and neck were completely covered. The only problem was that there was no way to hide the helmet except for in a bag.

Now that Steve had two items that he needed to be stored when necessary, the helmet and shield that was, Howard used the excess material he found around to base to make a form fitting bag that could carry the shield, the helmet, weapons, ammo, and whatever else Steve could need.

They moved bases again at the end of those two months. The official plan was to meet up with the 107th infantry for a while before moving to the next location in France. Steve wondered if he would see Bucky there and anticipation made his toes curl while excitement made his fingers twitch.

But it became obvious just four hours into their stay that the unit had just taken a hit. Medical professionals scurried about, collecting and transporting the wounded. Men sat around looking shell-shocked, watching the SSR agents pass with equipment and plans with hardly a flicker of life in their eyes.

Steve waited in a tent further back, Philipps and Carter talking over maps and files as Steve stood guard in his uniform. The dirty ragged soldiers who passed them stared at the tent and it’s occupants, blinking rain from their eyes as they cocked their heads at Steve. Steve kept looking for Bucky among their faces, but his heart sank and sank when he saw nothing that proved Bucky was among the men walking about.

Steve looked back at Carter and Phillips and subtly slipped away, nearly bumping into a pair of tired looking soldiers.

“Woah, you’re a little guy, huh?”

“Watch it pal, this little guy will whip your ass,” Steve said immediately.

“Hey, I ain’t trying to start nothing,” the man said, putting his hands up.

Steve relaxed. “Alright, sorry about bumping into ya then. Hey, can you tell me what happened here? A lot of men have been coming in wounded and we just arrived.”

“There was an attack. Of all the troops, the 107th lost the most men. 200 went out and fifty came back.” The 107th. _Bucky._ “They were ambushed by Hydra. Everybody else is either dead or captured. There ain’t even a rescue mission in place. I think we’re going to be retreating soon, gettin’ the hell outta here, at least, but I dunno.”

“Thanks,” Steve patted the man on the shoulder and walked away, mind racing.

Steve wouldn’t believe for a second that Bucky was dead. He couldn’t accept it. So what he did was slip through the base, stepping through mud and rain, to where Stark's plane was.

“And just what do you think you’re doing?” Peggy asked. Steve whirled around blinked at her, caught as he tried to figure out how to work the monstrosity. Damn, she was quiet. Someday he'll be as good as she is.

He steeled himself and turned back to the controls. “Didn’t you hear? They’ve got prisoners and there’s no plan for a rescue mission.”

“This is insane!”

“This is what I’ve been training for!” Steve snapped back. “I can fight, I’m stronger than anyone has any right to be, I can run for miles tirelessly, and I want to fucking do something with what I was given, Peggy, I can’t just stand around like this!”

She glowed for a moment and sighed. “You’ll need a pilot who knows how to work this damn thing. I’ll fetch Stark and come along for a quick debrief.”

“Yes, ma’am. Thank you."


	5. Gnossienne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gnossienne: A moment of awareness that someone you’ve known for years still has a private and mysterious inner life.
> 
>  
> 
> (this is clearly for Bucky because someone is about to get a hell of a surprise.)

Steve touched down with barely a noise, already shucking off the parachute and running towards the lights he could see, a road with a cargo train of vehicles.

He slid behind a bush and eyed the procession. The last vehicle had an open back with just a tarp over it and was clearly his best chance of getting a disguise and getting in. In the darkness, he sprinted out of the bush quickly right on his toes and as quietly as possible. He ran behind the truck for a few seconds, mentally preparing himself, and then grabbed on, climbing in.

The second he had a moment to observe his surroundings, he noticed there were Hydra personal in uniforms right there in front of him.

“Fellas.”

He broke the first’s neck and stabbed the second just like Peggy taught him. He tossed the blood covered man out the back, aiming for the forest, and stripped the smaller man. Steve took off his equipment and quickly slipped into the Hydra uniform. Lastly, he put on the helmet and grimaced. A bit big, but manageable. He emptied the pockets of things he didn’t need and shoved some grenades into them, putting everything else in his bag.

He tossed the second body into the forest just before the Hydra base came into view and quickly cleaned up after himself, wiping up the blood with rags, shoving the bloody cloth into a dark corner.

He waited patiently for the truck to stop, start backing up, and finally park.

Carefully he peered outside, seeing a soldier in a matching uniform headed his way, the difference being this guy had a gun. Steve waited for him and pulled his knife. When the man poked his head in, Steve lashed out, stabbing the knife in his neck and pulling him in with it.

He shoved the dead man under a tarp and grabbed the gun for himself.

Blend, observe, plan, strike, he repeated to himself.

Well, he needed to get into the prison area. He could blend as a prison guard. He could observe the situation there, he could make a plan and then, well, strike.

He checked the dead man’s pockets, finding nothing of use, and then quickly fled the area while he could, entering the compound and wandering. He came to a locked door and peered out, seeing another soldier stand guard in a larger area. He tapped on the door, letting the idiot open it for Steve. Steve crunched his skull with the door and then shoved the body in a nearby closet.

From there Steve headed through the mechanical area. He watched prisoners, thin, gaunt, tired prisoners being forced to build blue energy weapons like the one Steve held. Steve’s heart ached for them, seeing desperate eyes and pleading angry expressions. They were beaten, humiliated, broken. To his left, an ill worker sputtered out a coughing fit, bracing himself against the table. A guard shouted something out, but the prisoner couldn't stop his violent coughing.

The guard hit him hard with his baton, knocking the man to the floor. Anger flooded Steve, but he forced it down. He knew he couldn't afford to stop now or prevent the beating. Every cell of his being protested this, but his training was the primary focus. He couldn't afford to get caught now.

In a less populated area, he came across a partially assembled ring of blue cartridges. He grabbed one and shoved it in a pocket, checking his surroundings and walking again. After a few minutes he spotted a map of the facility and immediately headed toward the area where the prisoners were kept.

There was only one guard on duty, walking on a catwalk above the prisoners, looking down on them like some kind of tyrant.

 _ <You’re shift’s up. I’m here to take your place,> _ Steve said casually.

 _ <I don’t go for another two hours,> _ the man said, suspiciously, and Steve shrugged.

< _It’s a recent development. I don’t make the rules._ > He could see the tired army men watching the exchange like it was the only entertainment they’d see all day.

 _ <Who are you?> _ The man demanded.

So Steve stabbed him in the neck and the prisoners gasped as the Hydra soldier choked around the knife, dropping to his knees and then slumping over the floor, a pool of blood spreading under him.

“So much for fuckin' subtlety,” Steve grumbled, grabbing the keys for the guard's belt. He knelt by the barred hole in the floor. “How you doin’ fellas?”

“What the hell?” was his reply.

Steve jumped down the stairs, slowly looking around for another guard. Finding none, he started to unlock the cells. When a majority of the men were free, he started speaking to them. “I’m going to be honest with you all; I came here alone. This escape will only succeed if you make it succeed and at the moment, you have the advantage. If you all bust outta here kicking and shouting, they won’t know what hit ‘em. Grab guns, grenades, raise hell against the bastards that put you here. Outside in the yard are tanks and trucks. If anybody gets into one of those, you keep the fuckers off your asses.”

“Who’re you? Allied?”

“I’m America,” Steve confirmed. “And you will refer to me as the Captain from now on. I’m looking for a Sergeant James Barnes. He here?”

“He’s been sent to the isolation ward here in the factory, but no one's ever come back from it,” and englishman put in.

Steve grimaced. “Alright. The treeline is north west, eighty yards past the gate. I’ll meet you there with anyone else I find.”

A man stopped him. “You sure you know what you’re doing?”

Steve scoffed. “Yeah, a‘course I do.”

The mustached man shrugged and put his hands up. “Fair enough.”

Steve paused. “Here,” he passed over the gun. “Take this.”

“How are you going to defend yourself, then?” the man challenged, and Steve reached for his bag, pulling on his shield and listening to the click, click, click, as it reformed. He twirled his blood covered knife in his fingers.

“I think I can handle myself,” he said and ran off in search of Bucky, knowing that shit was about to go down and they didn’t want to stick around for any of it.

 

* * *

 

He could hear the chaos outside from this wing of the building and felt satisfaction pull at his lips The attack was clearly in their favor, and he had high hopes of their successful escape. The isolation wing was abandoned, presumably, but Steve still froze when he saw a mousy looking man with fear in his eyes scrambling to escape. He didn’t expect the man to run off, especially in such a fright, so he was on guard immediately. Steve swore to get out as soon as possible.

He heard mumbling from a nearby door and he looked inside, seeing a man strapped down to a table, dangerous and ugly equipment hovering around him. He rushed in, frantic at the sound of Bucky’s voice.

“Bucky. Ah, Christ,” he said, leaning over his best friend, his Bucky. Bucky didn’t respond so Steve pulled off the stupid helmet and cupped Bucky’s cheek. “It's me, it's Steve.”

Bucky blinked at him. “Steve?”

Steve ripped of the straps with a few quick movements and started lifting Bucky up. “C’mon. We gotta go.”

“Steve?” Bucky asked again, sounding lost. Steve looked around the room and spotted a map on the wall, quickly memorizing the locations of the flags.

Steve looked at his friend. “I thought you were dead.” He kissed Bucky quickly, just to make sure he really was there. Relief made him relax a bit and he pulled back. “Don’t you fuckin’ do that to me again.”

“I didn’t mean to,” Bucky replied in a daze as they start walking. “Why are you here?”

“You took all the fuckin' stupid with you. I, on the other hand, got some goddamn sense and joined the army,” Steve said, and handed Bucky his shield. “Hold this a minute.” They walked as Steve stripped out of the Hydra uniform, ditching the stuff on the floor as they went. Soon, Steve was back down to his SSR made uniform and strapping his holsters on. He stuffed his helmet on his head and pulled on his goggles.

Now, dressed in his regular uniform, Steve flashed his lover a grin. “Now let’s haul ass outta here.”

“The hell are you wearing?”

“My uniform. Special ops infiltration.”

“Then why were you wearin’ that other uniform?”

“Infiltration. Gotta blend in, Buck.” Bucky was limping badly and slowing them down. “C’mon, we gotta go faster. I’m givin’ you a lift.”

“You can’t lift me,” Bucky said. “You’re cute, but you’re five three and ninety pounds soaking wet.”

“That ain’t the way you should talk to the person savin’ your sorry ass, and the fuck I can’t. C’mon. Get on.” Steve gestured to his back. “You’re my six.”

“This is a bad idea, but here goes,” Bucky said as he wrapped his arms around Steve’s neck and swung his legs around Steve’s waist. Steve picked him up with ease and heard Bucky say, “Woah.”

Steve streaked through the halls and stumbled when the first explosion rocked through the area. “Shit,” Steve cursed as they reached the fiery pit that was the construction area. Everything was burning and the orange glow burned Steve’s eyes.

“So you are the little trouble maker that caused this mess,” someone said in a German accent to their left. Steve looked over to see none other than Johann Schmidt and the mousy looking man he saw earlier on the other side of the pit of flames.

“Yeah? Well the Geneva Conventions tells ya to fuck off,” Steve called back.

“You are spirited,” Schmitt noted, slowly walking across the catwalk. “And for such a small man you seem to be handling your companions weight surprisingly well.”

“Yeah? So what?” Steve said, gently putting his lover down and matching Schmitt's movements, itching for a fight with this madman.

“I am merely commenting on that fact that Doctor Erskine managed it after all.” Schmitt looked down at Steve in disdain. “Not exactly an improvement, but, still. Impressive.”

Steve punched him in the face. A nice swift uppercut. The satisfaction made him sneer out, “You've got no idea," his shield at the ready.

Schmitt fell back a few steps and then prodded his jaw, looking over to Steve again and grinning. “Haven't I?” Schmitt asked as he straightened and threw a punch at Steve. Steve swung up his shield and blocked the punch, though it sent him skidding back a few paces. Steve grabbed the safety railing and kicked out with both feet like a kangaroo. His feet connected solidly with Schmitt's chest and Schmitt fell to the other side of the stretch. The mouse-man frantically hit a button that made the walkway retract, pulling them away from each other.

“No matter what lies Erskine told you,” Schmitt spat, standing up. “You see, I was his greatest success!”

And he reached for his face. “The fuck’s he doin’?” Steve asked Bucky, gesturing to Schmitt. He turned back to face the Nazis. “You realize your base is blowin’ up, right? Like you could get taken out by some stray shrapnel right now.”

Ripping off his face, apparently, was what this was. It was more disgusting than it sounded. His skull looked waxy and shiny like a candle or some fresh paint. His nose was just gone and his cheekbones were so obvious Steve kept looking at them instead of Schmidt's eyes.

“Pal, you look like a fuckin’ candle,” Steve said. “I think whatever the Doc did to me was better than the shit you did to yourself.”

“You don't have one of those, do you?” Bucky asked lowly.

Steve looked at Bucky incredulously. “No, you asshole.”

Schmitt continued, unfazed. “You are deluded. You pretend to be a simple soldier, but in reality you are just afraid to admit that we have left humanity behind. Unlike you; I embrace it proudly. Without fear.”

“Yeah? And which of us is runnin’?” Steve retorted.

Schmitt didn’t answer, he got inside an elevator with his mouse-man and left without a reply. More explosions ripped through the factory, shaking and shuddering the building under the pressure of heat and combustion.

“Fuckin' crazy bastard,” Steve grumbled to himself and looked around. “Up there,” Steve said, pointing to a beam above them, leading to an exit door. “C’mon.”

The pair stumbled up the stairs and to the banister, flinching at each explosion. Steve quickly helped Bucky over the railing. “Let's go. One atta time.” Bucky slowly crossed, hands out to maintain some balance.

An explosion rocked the facility and loosened the bolts on the other side, making the beam wobbly and unstable. Steve tensed, fear in his veins, but Bucky sprinted across as it started falling and grabbed the railing on the other side before the beam dropped. Bucky climbed up and over to safety clumsily and looked down, then back up at Steve.

“We gotta get a rope or something!” he shouted over the rumbling booms and roar of the fire.

“Just go! Get outta here!” Steve said, waving him away.

“No! I’m not leaving here without you!” Bucky shouted furiously.

Steve looked around for a second option and found none. Cursing his luck, he started pushing out the railing, making space for himself to jump. He backed up ten paces and quickly strapped his shield to his back.

And he ran… and jumped.


	6. Phalanx

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phalanx: A number of individuals, especially persons united for a common purpose.

Steve cannot, for the life of him, remember exactly how they got out of the building before it collapsed in on itself. He knows that they got out by the skin of their teeth, but before that was a blank. He ignored that for the moment and led Bucky over to the group just beyond the treeline.

“How many injured?” Steve asked.

“More than we’d like,” a man Steve recognizes replied, looking out to the people milling about, using strips of shirts shirts to patch each other up. “The surprise attack worked, but they got their lucky shots in too.”

“Get ‘em all on the trucks and tanks. Everybody who can walk without making their condition worse, will walk,” Steve ordered. “We’ll go ten miles out and make camp.”

“Sure thing, Captain.”

“Captain?” Bucky asked, blinking dumbly at Steve. “You outrank me?”

“It’s my codename,” Steve answered. “But yeah, kinda. C’mon, let’s get you on a truck.”

“Where the hell did you get a codename?”

“I told ja,” Steve gave a smarmy grin as he led Bucky towards the closest vehicle. “I joined the army.”

“I sure as hell didn’t get a code name. I just got a rank,” Bucky protested as Steve sat him in a truck with a dozen or so other men.

“Might be a good time to mention my name is classified, pal,” Steve said.

“S- Cap, what the hell did ja get yourself into?” Bucky asked, bewildered.

“Well. I guess you didn’t take all the stupid with you, that’s all I can say.” Steve gave a ‘what can you do’ shrug.

“Punk,” Bucky sighed.

“Jerk.” Steve briefly squeezed Bucky's hand. Not too long, though. Couldn't afford pointing fingers now. He was in enough trouble just for pulling this mission. He let go and walked back towards the men he first met. “Everybody loaded up?”

“Nearly, there’s a little over a dozen people who can’t fit anywhere. We only got the one tank and two trucks, but a lot of people got broken bones and twisted ankles and gunshot wounds.”

Steve looks towards the burning facility and the evacuating Hydra personnel. 

“I’ll go grab something real quick.”

“Everything was destroyed in the fight,” the englishman said, confused.

“I said I’m gonna grab something, doesn’t have to work as long as it’s got wheels,” Steve retorted and walked back over to the facility. He avoided the smoking wreckage, focused on finding something to suit his purposes. After a minute he came across the bed of a truck with the whole front missing. Luckily two sets of wheels were attached under the center of the bed. He checked to see if brakes were on and then dragged the truck back over to the tree line.

The group of men stared. “Get everybody in and then we move.”

As the able bodied loaded the injured up, Steve grabbed the edge of the back bumper and lifted, making the thing stabilize. He flipped so he was facing forward.

“Small man. Big load,” the man with the mustache mentioned.

“What’s it to ya?”

“Nothing,” he said, putting his hands up.

Steve palmed at his belt and grabbed the radio with one hand. It looked like someone had crushed it and based on how it was smashed, the damage was probably from Steve slamming into the wall when he jumped the ravine. Bucky had hauled him up, but he still had a pretty heavy impact. Steve shoved the wreck back in the pocket. “I can navigate, but looks like I can’t call my backup.”

“Navigating is good.”

“Let’s get goin’ then.”

They made the ten miles and set up camp. The able bodied brought water from a nearby stream to the wounded and quenched everyone's thirst, if not their hunger. After setting up a few scattered fires, Steve and several other men stayed up through the night as lookouts. Steve eventually got their names; Dum Dum Dugan, Gabe Jones, Monty Falsworth, Jim Morita, and Jacques Dernier.

“So you really can’t tell us your name? That must be a real pain in the ass,” Dum Dum said.

“I like Captain well enough,” Steve said over the fire. “Can’t have people recognizing me as a spy. Know what I’m sayin’?”

“Yeah, I get it.”

Monty broke out two cigarettes and the men passed them around. Steve almost declined when he was offered a puff, but then paused. Smoking wasn’t going to kill him, he realized, and gave it a shot. He took a drag and almost coughed when smoke filled his lungs, but he figured it was like breathing in and out, and managed to avoid embarrassing himself.

And hey, Steve liked smoking. It ain't so bad. Calming even. Course it was probably like drinking; do it too much and it’s going to fuck you over, but once or twice every now and then can’t be so bad.

 

* * *

 

 

Two days later they arrived at the camp. Throughout the time more and more men started having to take rides due to twisted ankles or rubbed-raw feet, so Steve was grateful to see the base on the horizon. His shoulders and armed ached from carrying the truck, but he was otherwise fine.

The men who could walk went first and was met with cheers and happy voices of the other soldiers. Steve saw men hugging and crying, reunited with close friends.

Carter cut through the crowd to him and smacked him upside the head. “Ow, hey!” It didn’t hurt through the helmet or serum but he was still surprised.

“You are going to get yourself killed,” she snapped.

“It worked, didn’t it?”

She sighed. “Why didn’t you radio this in?”

Steve pulled out the scrap metal. “Couldn't call my ride,” he offered. “Now I got a truckload of injured men. Where do I put ‘em?”

“Let’s hear it for the Captain!” Bucky shouted, and cheers and whoops went through the air.

Peggy glared at him, but Steve laughed and carefully set down the end of the truck.

 

* * *

 

 

“I hate you and your bull headed attitude and how you disobey orders but I’ll be damned if it isn’t helpful,” Phillips said. “If you were anybody else you’d be dishonorably discharged, but technically you don’t exist so I can’t fire you.”

“And I got information on the locations of other Hydra bases,” Steve added smugly. “I’d apologize for going off without permission, but I knew you’d say no and I ain’t sorry.”

“Damn right I would have said no. You’re an expensive man and I thought you would have failed. I thought you were a dumb stubborn son of a bitch.”

“And now?”

“Well I still think you're a dumb stubborn son of a bitch, but now I think you’re ready. You can chose to continue to go solo, or with a team. A couple men outside have been demanding to join you so it’s you choice, but we’re putting you out there and I expect results. If they hinder you, we have the right to send them away.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Now let’s see about that map.”'

 

* * *

 

 

“There’s one in Poland, the Baltic, and the sixth one was… About...here. 30, 40 miles west of the marginal line,” Steve said, marking the spot. Phillips almost looked impressed. He wasn’t the kind to look impressed so Steve grinned and added, “I just got a quick look.”

“Well nobody's perfect,” Phillip said.

“Sergeant Barnes said that Hydra shipped alla th’ parts to another facility that ain’t on this map,” Steve mentioned, almost calling him Bucky.

Phillips looked at Peggy. “Agent Carter, co-ordinate with MI6. I want every Allied eyeball looking for that main Hydra base.” She nodded and went off.

“What about us?” Steve asked.

“We are going to set a fire under Johann Schmidt's ass.” Phillips turned to Steve. “What do say, Captain? It's your map. You think you can wipe Hydra off it?”

“Yes, sir.”

 

* * *

 

 

“We barely got out of there alive, but at least you got us out of there. We want to go back out, but only if we’re doing whatever it is you do,” Dum Dum explained. “None of this dying on the front lines bullshit.”

“Sounds rather fun, actually,” Jacques added.

“Are you guys sure about this?” Steve asked, standing outside the main entrance to the SSR base. “’s dangerous. Probably more dangerous that being out on some of the front lines.”

“Yeah! But there’s one thing you got to do for me,” Dum Dum said mischievously.

“Yeah? And what's that?” Steve asked, crossing his arms.

“Open a tab.”

Steve laughed. “We aren’t exactly in a bar.”

“Next time we see a bar then,” Dum Dum said. “I haven’t had a drink in months!”

Steve shook his head. “There’s a tavern in the town. I’ll give you money for a few rounds on me, sound good enough?” The men whooped and hollered in delight as Steve forked over the money. They wandered off in the direction Steve pointed.

“They’re all idiots,” Bucky said warmly, chuckling.

“What about you? You joining the mission to wipe out Hydra?”

“I guess I am. Have to be your six, don’t I?” Bucky gave Steve a tired grin.

“You don’t have to, but I’m glad you’ve got my back, as always,” Steve said honestly. He felt almost relieved at the idea of Bucky being there with him, but also cold worry eating him at the thought of Bucky being killed with Steve in command.

“C’mere,” Bucky said and gave him a hug. “Punk,” Bucky mumbled into his hair.

“Jerk,” Steve mumbled back into Bucky chest, the goggles pressing against his face annoyingly.

 


	7. Oriflamme

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oriflamme: A symbol or standard that inspires confidence, devotion, or courage.

Steve was offered a medal for valor for saving those four hundred prisoners, but both he and Peggy knew that he couldn’t show up, not if he wanted to keep his cover. Steve didn’t want to receive it anyway. He just wanted to do what was right, it wasn’t worth being rewarded for trying to do right.

Sence Bucky was the only person who knew who Steve was, he was allowed to bunk with Steve to save transport space. Why bring another tent when you didn’t have to? And, of course, this meant total privacy for as long as they were inside, so they squeezed together on a cot with both blankets over them.

There were six bases (possibly more) they needed to destroy, each nearly a country apart. To avoid detection, they had to move slowly and very very quickly in turn. Within a few weeks the team named themselves the Howling Commandos, despite the fact that they wouldn’t actually be able to make a lot of noise.  The first base they attacked together. Steve was sent in first, scoping the place out, stealing loads of information, and then went around breaking locks off doors. With the weak spots wide open, they blew it sky high. The Nazis never even knew what hit them.

After the base was destroyed, they ran for it, headed quickly back to the main SSR base several bags of papers and files. Of course, this was slow going, but it gave them a chance to camp out and relax when they weren’t moving.

After the first base, Steve and Bucky lay tangled together, both trying to sleep and not quite succeeding. Bucky’s hands were tangled in Steve’s shirt and Steve could practically feel the white-knuckled grip. Steve rubbed Bucky’s side softly to try to calm him.

“Bucky,” he whispered, worried for his best friend. “Are you okay?”

Bucky shrugged.

“Is this about what happened? At the place I rescued you from,” Steve asked.

Bucky started shuddering under his hands and Steve felt his eyes widen at the reaction. “Hey, hey, no, you don’t have to tell me, okay?” Steve hastened to assure. “I’ll be here for you anyway, you don’t need t’say, I promise.”

Bucky nodded, choking back slight sobs.

“C’mere,” Steve said, pulling Bucky a bit closer, Bucky’s forehead resting on Steve’s chest. Bucky wrapped his arms around Steve’s knees and took several shaky breaths as Steve ran his fingers through Bucky’s greasy hair soothingly until they both fell asleep.

He treasured the peaceful moments they caught in Steve’s tent, always knowing that they could be taken from him in an instant. It was the only time they could kiss safely, the only time Steve could hear ‘buttercup,’ ‘sugar,’ and ‘doll,’ in his ear freely. And, depending on the distance between the tents, was the only time that either of them could relieve a little tension without fear of being caught and reported.

At this point, that fear wasn’t even fear for himself. Maybe a bit for Bucky, but Steve bit his nail to the quick at the thought of being forced back home and having people die because he couldn’t be there to finish missions or free prisoners.

Sometimes they were forced to sleep on the ground, half stuck into the mud and under the scratchy cover of bushes. Steve was the only one who couldn’t take off his helmet and at least try to get comfortable so he usually sat up as a guard. Bucky still slept next to him then.

On missions, they always had a few close calls, but with Bucky sniping from a distance, they always managed to wiggle out of it. Bucky always had the best sight out of all of them and they used that to their advantage.

“If only we could get a better view,” Steve mumbled one day, squinting through the dense trees. The second base wasn’t too far off, but with all this forest he couldn't see a lick of it. He looked above them, seeing a patch where there were no leaves, only cool gray sky. He looked over at Bucky. Then at his shield.

“Hey, Buck.”

“Yeah?”

“What’s yer opinion on the springboard?”

“I ain’t no gymnast,” Bucky said, narrowing his eyes.

“Humor me.” Steve reformed his shield and found the center of the open spot, the base at his back. “C’mon, or are you too chicken? I’ll catch you, promise.”

“This is fuckin’ stupid.”

“Chicken!”

Bucky ran full tilt at him and Steve crouched, putting the shield over his head. As soon as he felt weight press into it, he surged up. Bucky went flying with a slight yelp, flailing before pausing in the air, staring off toward the base.

Steve caught him bridal style and set him on his feet, Dum Dum mimicking Bucky a few feet away and joking with the other guys.

“That was wild,” Bucky said, running a hand through his windblown hair. “They’ve got three tanks out front, a gate all around, and they’re busy unloading shipments.”

The spring board became a pretty practical and often used maneuver. Sometimes Steve and Bucky didn’t even have to discuss it, Bucky just started running and Steve would own up to his side of the bargain.

During a particularly easy mission, Steve had time to rummage through the desk of a high-ranking official. Inside he found an armful of important files and a small neatly carved box. Breaking the box open, he found a polished wooden pipe with the swastika etched on it, a small jar of tobacco, and a pipe press. He stole it and everything he could get his hands on.

Steve burned the swastika off and put the SSR symbol in its place with a red-hot decorative pin he got from Peggy and a pair of pliers. When it satisfied his needs, he started smoking to ease stress and out of spite. A stick it to Hitler, really. An American burning the swastika off one of his damn pipes and smoking tobacco across Europe. That Nazi bastard had an anti-smoking deal going on, so it felt like a little petty joy in life.

Stress smoking ended up happening a lot more than once or twice every now and then, but he managed to avoid smoking every day. He usually made it to every other day, or, if he was lucky, once every three days.

Another joy in his life was seeing the political cartoons of him running circles around Hydra. One of his favorites was him (or, him in a Hydra Uniform, but with his SSR pipe) running from a cartoonish baby Red Skull with his arms full of papers, a flurry of them spilling out of his arms. The baby Red Skull had a peashooter and was whining ‘No fair!’ while shooting and missing. In the background was the Howling Commandos, howling with laughter and slapping their knees.

Later Steve found a better pipe with some polished black marble and a gold stem. The gold had little elegant carvings of some countryside or other covering the whole thing into the point that Steve could feel the end of the image under his lips when he smoked. It must have been commissioned because Steve’s never seen one like it.

He was glad to not have to smoke from a pipe with a burnt off swastika, first off, because burning it off didn’t mean that it didn’t represent something, and second off, he liked the idea that he stole the fancy one from a ranking Hydra member. He’s not sure exactly what happened to the first, but he’s pretty certain that the SSR took it because he touched it. Any evidence of him was classified, after all.

Each week Peggy told Steve what was being put onto the radio and the response that it sparked. She said more men were joining up, war bond sales were higher than ever, and people felt more hope for the outcome of the war when reports of another base being blown up reached their ears. To protect the rag-tag team, the reports were repeated over the radio about a week after the infiltration and attacks occurred, of course.

It was vital that nobody knew their locations. Even the SSR couldn’t record anything until it was done and then it was all locked away in a classified file in a classified safe that nobody knew about hidden away in a classified location.

They did have the occasional SSR photographer come around, but Steve was informed that any pictures taken went into that classified file and classified safe. Eventually, the guys just got their own camera and took pictures whenever they wanted. Then someone had the brilliant idea to give them a video camera. Steve said if they wanted to bring them, the Commandos had to carry them. Steve wouldn't take it if his life depended on it and he swore that if it somehow blew their cover, he'd destroy it with his bare hands.

The Captain and his Howling Commandos were popular figures in both America and other allied countries, which meant their radio broadcast benefited the war effort as a whole.

 

* * *

 

For once they had tents again and it was amazing to be able to sleep in a cot.

Bucky still wasn’t falling asleep, his back turned to Steve and fiddling with something in his hands. Steve grunted tiredly and wrapped an arm around Bucky’s waist. “Go the fuck t’sleep, Buck.”

Bucky hummed. “In a second. I’m doin’ somethin’.”

“What?”

“Gimme a minute, I’m almost done.”

Steve dozed for a bit, not quite drifting off. He snapped to attention when he felt Bucky take his hand and wrap something around his ring finger, tying a little knot. Steve froze, snapping awake. Bucky flipped over and gave Steve his hand back.

A tiny black string tied up in a neat braid was now resting on his finger, barely visible in the dim light.

“I just-” Bucky shrugged. “I know we can’t. But you wear gloves. Nobody has to know, but I love you. So much. And if I could, I’d put a real ring on you.”

“Bucky,” Steve said softly, tearing up. “God, you goddamn sap.”

“If you don’t want it-”

“Fuck you, this is mine. My fiance made this,” Steve said.

Bucky smiled and hugged Steve close.

 

* * *

 

Base after base fell to its knees in rubble and ruin. Hydra was losing at a rapid pace, not expecting the guerrilla attacks time after time again and not suspecting a misplaced man at the slightest. In fact, improving security only made it simpler for Steve because it was easier to get a uniform and blend in with the others.

Steve himself improved. His German got better and his actions and reactions became effortless in battle and everyday life. The efficiency of his team ravaged the facilities, liberating prisoners, defeating the opposing forces, stealing and looting shipments and information, winning the war one explosion and sneaky disguise at a time. Their attacks against Hydra even benefited the guys fighting Hitler and his scum. The files Steve stole had a lot of information, after all, and Schmitt had been a member of the inner circle.

“We certainly lit a fire under Schmitt's ass, but we still haven't found that last base,” Phillips said at the next meeting. “We have intelligence that tells of a train in the Alps that will carry Zola, Schmitt's right-hand man, cross country. We need your team to apprehend the man and bring him back here for questioning.”

Steve considered the information and plans before him.

“You up for it?”

“I’ve got a few ideas, sir.”


	8. Thantophobia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thantophobia: The phobia of losing someone you love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING FOR SPOILERS (and discussion)
> 
> If u want, read the chapter and then come back to this!
> 
> After re-watching CATFA I noticed that if Steve had told Bucky to scoot back to the strong point of the bar and then tried to grab the bar instead of Bucky he could have saved him. If I noticed this, Canon!Steve defiantly did with a memory as good as his, which makes it three times sadder than it is. Of course, it still wasn't his fault, but just the idea of that is heartbreaking.
> 
> Anyway! Skinny!Steve could not have reached Bucky as tiny as he is. His arms wouldn't have been long enough and not even big!Steve could reach that far. Steve wasn't trained in how to be as straightforward and one-tracked mind-ed as Big!Steve. He's a spy! He was trained to figure out how to get away with shit, how to think of other solutions. Therefore: Bucky's still there and we avoid the Winter Soldier's birth (trust me, it's vital!)

“Fuckin’ hate the cold,” Bucky grumbled, shivering. “This ain’t payback for the time I made you ride the Cyclone, is it?”

“Now why would I do that?” Steve asked, grinning around his pipe.

The radio buzzed behind them and Gabe looked over, catching their attention. “Our intel was right, Doctor Zola is on the train. A Hydra dispatcher gave him permission to open up the throttle. Wherever he's going, they must need him bad,” Gabe said.

“Let's get going because they're moving like the devil,” Monty noted, bringing down his binoculars and watching the train draw closer.

Steve huffed and tapped out his pipe in the snow, shoving his stuff back in his bag quickly. “We got about... a ten second window. We miss that window, we're bugs on a windshield.”

“Mind the gap,” Monty added dryly.

“Better get moving, bugs,” Dum Dum said with a cheerful grin.

Steve hooked up his zip line equipment and waited for Jacques’ signal.

“ _ Maintenant _ !” he announced and Steve pushed off, holding on tight.

Steve could hear the roaring wind in his ears and see the endless valley below him, the bone-chilling drop only two hand grips away. He ignored it, eyes on the train and focus on his drop, making sure he wouldn't mess up. He landed lightly on his toes and crouched to maintain balance. The speed of the train and the chill air make him feel like his face was freezing off.

He looked back to see Bucky and Gabe drop safely, getting low and squinting against the wind. Steve waved them forward and quickly located a ladder and hatch inside. Steve made a motion to Gabe and the other soldier nodded, crouching and acting as lookout. He and Bucky climbed down, and Bucky closed the door behind them and the pair looked around.

Empty.

Quiet.

Steve signaled for Bucky to walk forward with him and the pair silently crept along the wall. Steve paused before the entryway to the next room, double checking everything before he slid forward.

The doors closed as soon as Steve was through.

Trap.

“Fuck!” Steve spat explosively, whirling around and looking through the window, having to stand on his toes to do it. Bucky looked back frantically and turned in time to dodge enemy fire.

Something whirred loudly behind Steve and he spun around, barely bringing up the shield in time to block the energy beam. He ducked and rolled, finding cover behind some stacked boxes to his left. Grabbing his gun, he poked his head over the side and fired several shots. Unfortunately, the Nazi kept firing so Steve's shots weren't as accurate as he would have liked.

“ _Stop him! Fire again_!” Came Zola’s voice over the intercom.

The man continued to fire again and again and Steve's eyes whipped around. There, on the ceiling, some kind of device on a track. The enemy was in a large clunky suit. His agility would be shit and Steve had the advantage of being a small target anyway. Steve rushed for it, grabbing on and letting its momentum slide him forward as the energy gun charged up again.

When it fired, Steve put the shield in front of him, blocking the blast and then kicking the Hydra goon in the face. This knocked him down to the ground and Steve slammed the shield into the man’s chest for good measure.

Using the energy gun, he blasted through the locked door and ran for it, hearing the rat-a-tat-tat of gunfire. Steve stood on his toes to look through the window, quickly realizing that Bucky was crouched behind some crate with no ammo.

Steve nudged the button to open the door and hid behind the wall, catching Bucky's attention. He pulled his gun from his holster and offered it.

Bucky nodded and caught the weapon. After a count of three, Steve put the shield in front of him and rushed forward, slamming into the racks and knocking a box into the space with the Nazi was standing. The man jumped out of the way and jerked when Bucky’s bullet went straight through his heart, slumping to the floor.

Steve gave Bucky a clumsy pat on the shoulder.

“I had him on the ropes,” Bucky grumbled.

“Sure, Buck.”

At the energizing whirl, he looked back and shoved Bucky behind him. “Geddown!”

The blast caught him off guard and knocked him away, throwing him into the wall. The energy beam ricocheted and popped the train like a soda can.

_ “Fire again! Kill him!’  _ Zola said.

Dazed, Steve started to get up, watching as Bucky grabbed his shield and put it up in front of him, his other hand shooting up to fire at the armored man.

The second energy beam hit the shield dead center and knocked Bucky back through the hole in the train wall. In seconds Steve grabbed the shield and threw it as hard as he could, seeing it lodge deeply into the armored man’s chest, killing him with certainty this time.

Steve ran for the opening, seeing Bucky dangling from a broken rail on the side of the metal wall.

“Bucky!”

Time slowed down as he desperately tried to figure out how to save Bucky. Snow stilled in the air, the wind stopped. All he could hear was his heart pounding in his ears. His arms were too short to reach Bucky, he could see that as clear as day. The railing Bucky was dangling from was going to give soon, especially with where Bucky was holding on to. So…

“Get back! Farther left!” He shouted, grabbing the closer railing and slowly making his way over. He was not going to let his fiance die like this, he would not. Bucky stared and then shifted back a bit, confused and scared. The bar would hold longer if he was centering his weight in the strong spot.

“Just hold on!” Steve shouted over the roaring wind as he carefully edged forward, as fast as he was able. “I’m coming! Don’t let go!”

“I ain’t lettin’ go!” Bucky shouted, tone implying that Steve was mad if he though Bucky was going to do just that.

When Steve was at the end of his railing he shifted his position and reached out as far as he could, grabbing the broken end of the railing with his free hand.

Buckys eyes widened in realization and Steve carefully pulled. The bar gave with a tug and Steve held on tight to the end. “Climb up!” he shouted, holding the bar as close as he could to his person, letting Bucky scramble back over him and into the safety of the train.

Steve followed after him and grabbed Bucky, holding him tight. “Fuck! I almost lost you!” he said into Bucky’s chest, choked. He could hear the rapid thump-thump of Bucky’s heart.

“Oh Jesus, oh Jesus, Steve,” Bucky replied, holding back just as tightly.

“We’re fine,” Steve said at last. “You’re fine. I’m fine.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

They stood there for a minute. “That wasn’t the kinda payback I wanted for the Cyclone,” Steve admitted.

Bucky choked on a laugh.


	9. Sarang

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sarang: The feeling of wanting to be with someone until death.

Phillips interrogated Zola for a good thirty minutes before he came to the team with some troubling news.

“Johann Schmidt belongs in a bug house. He thinks he's a god and he's willing to blow up half the world to prove it. Starting with the U.S.A.” He pointed to the map of the world behind him.

Stark cut in. “Schmidt's working with powers beyond our capabilities. He gets across the Atlantic. He'll wipe out the entire eastern seaboard in an hour.”

“How much time we got?” Gabe asked.

“According to my new best friend, less that twenty-four hours,” Phillips responded.

Everyone stared and Steve lit his pipe. He earned this one. All those people. This was high stakes. Any mistake at this point could cost millions of lives. His skin felt like it was buzzing and dread crept up his spine. Panic itched at his throat, but the smoke made it die down some.

“Where is he now?” Monty asked at last.

“Hydra's last base is here. In the Alps.” Phillips pointed to his photograph.

“So what are we supposed to do? It's not like we can just knock on the front door,” Jim said, flabbergasted.

“Why not?” Steve asked slowly a growing grin on his face, an idea forming in his mind. “That's exactly what we're gonna do.”

Bucky puts his hand on Steve's shoulder. “You dumb fucking punk,” he said seriously.

“Shove a cork in it, Barnes. This’ll work. He won’t be expecting a frontal assault from me which means it will be all the more distracting. I cause a bit of chaos, blow the front door wide open, and stall long enough to get troops in there.”

 

* * *

 

 

The plan went off flawlessly.

He was captured, according to the plan. Blew the front door wide open, according to the plan. And met with the Red Skull himself, according to plan.

The Skull stalked over, glaring at Steve. “Arrogance may not be a uniquely American trait, but I must say you do it better than anyone." He paused. "But-- there are limits to what even you can do, Captain. Or did Erskine tell you otherwise?” Red Skull questioned.

“He told me you were insane,” Steve said, with a little shrug. “I’m inclined to agree.”

“Ah,” Schmitt said. “He resented my genius, and tried to deny me what was rightfully mine. But he gave you everything, so.” He looked down at Steve, considering. “What made you so special?”

“Nothing,” Steve said, grinning. “I'm just a scrawny punk from Brooklyn.” Schmitt punched him across the face, backhanded him, and then walloped him in the gut, making Steve bend over coughing. Steve looked up and showed blood stained teeth. “I can do this all day.”

“Oh of course you can, of course.” Schmitt pulled out his gun and lined up between Steve’s eyes. “But unfortunately I am on a tight schedule.”

Steve leaned forward, letting the gun press to the glass of his goggles. “I still ain’t the one running. C’mon, whatcha waitin’ for?” Steve sneered. “Scared? I've had closer brushes with death than this, you don't scare me.”

Tiny pings came from the window as grappling hooks hit the rock. Everyone looked over. Skull’s glare snapped back and he fired just as Steve pulled the Hydra goon into the way. The soldier disintegrated before Steve's eyes as the windows shattered inward in showers of glass.

Steve got lost in the battle and the chase, running Skull down with everything he had.

He threw his shield down the curved hall and heard it get stuck in the doors. He started forward, but one of the Hydra goons with flamethrowers stepped out and forced Steve to duck behind a column, feeling the burning heat get closer and closer.

Abruptly it stopped with the sound of gunfire. Steve looked over to see Bucky standing there with a smoking gun in hand.

“Yer late,” Steve accused.

“Looks to me I’m just on time,” Bucky retorted. “C'mon, punk. Let’s go.”

In no time at all, Bucky and Steve fought through the battle outside the door, dodging bullets and blue beams. Steve started running down Schmitt's ship but even he wasn’t fast enough to catch up. He slowed to an uncertain stop and heard a revving engine behind him.

“Get in,” Phillips said as he stopped the car.

Bucky, in the front seat, pulled Steve in with him and Phillips started up again, rapidly chasing the Valkyrie down. When it became obvious that they still weren't going to catch up, Phillips got this look on his face as he checked the dash. A ‘what does this button do’ look.

The car shot forward, faster than what Steve considered imaginable. They were gaining ground enthusiastically, so he told Bucky to get on the hood and started climbing on the side, himself. They slowly squeezed through the space between propellers and Steve ducked, hearing them clang against his shield. The landing gear was right ahead of them.

“Tense up, I’m throwing you,” Steve said, and promptly threw Bucky it’s way. Bucky latched on and started climbing up like a spider, so Steve jumped after him, clinging to the joint.

Phillips slammed on the brakes, the car screeching to a stop and sliding a bit as he stalled just before he careened over the side of the cliff.

Bucky looked down to confirm that Steve was behind him and then scrambled inside. Steve looked over his shoulder, noticing Phillips stand to watch them. After a second, Steve followed Bucky up as the landing gear started retracting.

The first man Steve saw was accompanied, so Steve stabbed him in the neck and Bucky shot his friend through the head. Steve didn’t have time to slip the outfit over his uniform correctly, so he just chucked everything off and dressed. He wasn't even wearing socks. Bucky did the same and soon they were walking through the enemy like ghosts, shooting them in the back a second later.

Systematically they stopped every man that they passed, preventing them from dropping the enormous bombs they saw on the way.

They reached the cockpit and Steve waved for Bucky to stay back, reforming his shield.

Steve recognized the empty quiet as another trap but he went anyway, the ensuing fight was intense. This was beyond life and death. This was life or genocide, so Steve fought with all the burning rage and fear he held tightly inside of him. Steve's shield was thrown everywhere as he battled it out. He was hit, kicked, beaten down, but he kept getting up and giving as good as he got. When the ship nose dived and the gravity flipped, Bucky decided he had enough waiting and came in guns blazing.

He clipped Red Skulls arm, but not before the Skull shot him with his energy gun, blasting off Bucky’s shooting arm.

“Shit, Bucky!” Steve stood to run over to his fallen lover, panic in his veins and anger in his heart.

“You could have had the power of the gods!” The Skull shouted and shot at him again. Steve ducked the blast as Schmitt yelled out, “Yet you fight a battle of nations!”

Steve rolled for his shield, dodging yet another beam.

“I have seen the future, Captain. There are no flags!”

Steve grabbed his shield and shouted, “Not my future!” He hurled it into Skulls chest and knock the man back into the energy source. It cracked and flashed blue with the impact, sending sparks of energy and thrashing electric tails around before dying out.

Skull wobbled to his feet, looking at the power source. “What have you done?” Skull demanded, grabbing the fallen cube desperately. “No!”

And Steve could only stare as the energy crackled and projected above him the depths of space. Steve looked down at Skull to the other man similarly fascinated. Then Steve noticed Schmitt’s arm smoldering, wispy smoke coming off his hand and sleeve. Steve stumbled back, eyes wide. Skull finally noticed that he was burning up and shouted as he was evaporated and sucked into the vortex of stars.

The cube fell to the floor and burned through the metal, dropping into the ocean below. Good riddance. But Steve didn't have time for that. “Bucky! Bucky!”

“I think that beats the candle-face,” Bucky said in shock, looking numb as he stared up at the vanishing sight of space. His arm was long past saving, zapped to ash, but the wound was partially cauterized, slowly leaking blood.

“Jesus, Buck, Jesus,” Steve said, making his shield retract and then hauling Bucky up, mostly carrying him over to the steering contraption. He set Bucky in the chair and looked over the mechanics. Most of the thing was busted, from the fight, but it was still moving forward, so clearly something worked. He tapped the radio.

“Come in, this is the Captain. Do you read me?”

 _“Captain, what is your…”_ Jim started only to be replaced by Peggy. _“Captain? Are you alright?”_

“I’m fine, but Schmidt's dead. Sergeant Barnes is injured, but he’s alive.” That was important right now. Forget the injury. He was breathing and his arm wasn’t bleeding enough for him to die.

_“What about the plane?”_

“That's a little bit tougher to explain,” Steve admitted.

 _“Give me your coordinates I'll find you both a safe landing site,”_ she demanded.

“There's not going to be a safe landing,” he explained, looking over the clouds. Steve paused, debating the possible solutions to the situation and coming to one conclusion. “I'm going to try and force it down.”

_“I'll get Stark on the line, he'll know what to do.”_

“There's not enough time. This thing's moving too fast and it's heading for New York. I gotta put her in the water.”

_“We can find another way.”_

“The ship is going down, whether it’s here or in New York, and if I crash there a lot of people are going to die.” He looked at the electronic map. “Right now I'm in the middlea nowhere. It’ll be safe to put her down here. Peggy… I’m… I’m sorry.”

Steve forced the steering wheel down, making the ship nose dive and him slide back into Bucky’s lap. Bucky’s right arm wrapped around his waist, holding him steady. He wanted to get his pipe, but he also knew it won’t do anything to calm him down now.

 _“Barnes was right, you are a punk,”_ she choked out and the radio frizzed. _“Capt--”_ the signal cut out, leaving only static.

“Peggy we’re dropping off the radio… Hello? Hello?!” Steve tapped it again.

Bucky shifted behind him with a groan. “I’m with ya, pal,” Bucky said roughly. “Till the end of the line, right?”

“We’re gonna hafta get off at the station,” Steve gritted out as the wind whipped at his cheeks. “I’m so sorry Bucky.”

“God, Steve, don’t apologize. This is my choice too.”

“I’m sorry it had to be this way, then.”

“Steve. I- I love you, buttercup. I wish we could have gotten married. I love you so much.”

“Bucky…” The ice and snow was getting closer. They were almost to the water, to land. To their deaths.

“Just say it back, please,” Bucky begged, holding tight and putting his forehead against the back of Steve’s neck.

Steve turned around, leaning back to force the steering column down. He cupped Bucky’s face and kissed him, tasting salty tears, both Bucky’s and his own. He drew back a bit. “I love you too, Bucky-” and they hit the ice with an awful _bang-screech-shatter_. Steve was tossed from Bucky’s arms like a doll and the impact caused his shield to be thrown from his arm and down the hall.

But that’s not what he’s thinking about.

He had barely a moment to angrily think ‘why the _fuck_ did you take Bucky from me now?’ before he hit his head against the glass of the cockpit and blacked out.


	10. Intermission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Intermission: A pause or break.

_ When a strange World War II Era aircraft was found stuck in arctic ice, SHIELD was interested. Of course, nobody knew if it was the Valkyrie or not, as no one had the plans for it and the SSR and never recorded over which ocean the plane was supposed to have crashed, but the fact remained that chances were high and Hydra had very dangerous equipment that needed to be handled anyway.  _

_ So they excavated it.  _

_ They found a good many bodies in the ship, all decaying, but the first one they found was in brilliant shape. A man in a Hydra uniform and sporting a missing arm, perfectly preserved. He was splayed out over the steering wheel, still sitting in the pilot's seat. After a few hours of careful removal, the chunk of ice was sent up to the defrost tents on the surface. _

_ They worked their way back a bit, finding many shriveled bodies with some recognizable wounds. A portion of the ship was collapsed, crushing some unidentifiable shapes that an expert theorized were bombs, but was uncertain. The last body they found was actually slumped in the cradle of the window in the cockpit. Of course, this was a surprise, as it was also in marvelous condition, and the location. This man, as it was a man despite the frail appearance, was put in the same tent as the first body. _

_ A few hours later they were treated with a surprise, then two. _


	11. Pugnacious

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pugnacious: Inclined to quarrel or fight readily; quarrelsome; belligerent.

Steve woke up silently to steady rhythmic beeping. His head still ached where he hit it and the damn beeping wasn’t helping matters.

He didn’t open his eyes yet, he just breathed and listened. When he couldn’t gain anything from what he heard, he opened his eyes slowly and looked around. He was in some kind of dark hospital room that looked more like a cell than anything. He was laying on a slightly tilted hospital bed with bars on the sides. His hands were cuffed to the closest rung. His torso and legs were almost completely strapped down and if he had regular strength he wouldn’t see any way out of this.

One finger had some sort of clip on it and that wire trailed up to the beeping machine. Steve quickly realized that the machine was tracking his heart rate. He tugged at the cuffs lightly, listening to them clink as he tested their strength. Where was he?

The door to his left opened and Steve looked up to see a woman with a completely neutral expression over her face. He couldn't identify who she was or who she was sided with from her appearance. For all intent and purposes, she was with both sides and neither at the same time.

< _Good evening, sir_ > she said in German.

Steve narrowed his eyes. She could be a Nazi, what with her speaking German, but many Allied forces spoke it as well. He did, after all.

< _Can you tell me your name?_ >

Steve didn’t answer. He kept his trap shut for once. This was a disadvantage he couldn't afford to make worse.

She sighed in annoyance. < _You serve Herr Schmitt, yes?_ >

She thought he was Nazi, then. Steve couldn’t tell if that was good thing or a bad thing. For one thing, she could be Hydra and think he betrayed the cause. If that was the case, she would kill him. On the other hand she could just not know and still be a Nazi. If he said he was a Nazi, she might make him prove it and he'd be caught. If he said he was Allied, she might kill him if he admitted to it. There was the slight possibility that she was Allied, but the fact that any of his previous suspicions could be true meant it wasn't worth testing.

All he knew was that he wasn’t with the SSR. They knew him. Peggy and Phillips knew him personally. They would know, and this woman didn't. As far as he knew, he was with the enemy, these people had no idea who he was, and were prodding him for information. They likely found him in the Hydra uniform and assumed he served Schmitt.

Instincts kicked in. Blend, observe, plan, strike.

Unfortunately, when instincts kicked in, his heart rate kicked up. She nodded to herself, clearly deciding his elevated heart rate meant an agreement.

She asked him more questions and when he didn’t answer, left in a huff. After the door clicked shut, Steve looked around the room again and spotted a camera lazily moving back and forth in a steady pattern. He counted and for all of five seconds it did not point at him.

Five seconds was more than enough. There was a vent just under the camera, a second blind spot he could aim for.

He timed it perfectly and the second he wasn’t in view he ripped off the cuffs and the straps, bolting for the space under the camera. He dived for the air vent, ripping the cover off and slipping inside, replacing the it after him so it looked like nothing happened. He quickly slid through the extensive vents, peering through the slits of different vent covers when he could, trying to figure out where he was.

He paused, looking down into some kind of science area where ice covered items were strewn about on tables, grates under them to redirect melting water.

He was currently above a table with a partially defrosted triangle shaped piece of black metal. Steve’s contracted shield. He could also see his bag, frozen in ice, but he didn’t have the time for that. If he had time he’d come back for it later.

Steve looked around the area, slowly slid the vent to the side, and dropped down, grabbing the hunk of ice with his shield and cracking it against the table edge. He shook off the bits of ice and then jumped back up, replacing the vent and quickly fleeing the area.

At last he came to a room full of uniforms. He waited, listening for someone to approach. It remained empty, so he punted the grate out and grabbed the smallest uniform he could, and dressed. Steve remembered that part of the cuffs were still stuck on his wrists and he pulled those off. He checked himself in the mirror as he finished up, sliding an unfamiliar gun into the holster. The door swung open and Steve jumped over the bench in the center of the room and hid behind the open door, pressing his back to the wall.

“Are you kidding me? There’s no way I can make lunch today. I’m stuck guarding the computer terminal for three hours. Yeah, the one down in level four, you know of another computer terminal?”

The man shook his head and slammed the door closed. Steve punched him in the face and grabbed him before he could hit the floor. He quickly searched the man and grabbed his ID and a scrap of paper form his pocket labeled ‘SHIELD HQ map.’

He also found a small glass device. Confused, he turned it around in his hand. He shoved it in his pocket anyway and left the guy’s keys. They were clearly house keys, so they wouldn’t get him anywhere. He stuffed the unconscious man into a janitor's closet and locked the door.

He squinted down at the map and memorized the location he was supposed to be as… ‘Albert Ulys.’ He grabbed a small bag from the lockers and put his shield in it. He stuffed a few different weapons in it too, to be on the safe side. He quickly exited the changing area and walked down the halls, passing men and women carrying folders and larger devices that looked similar to the glass one Steve snagged.

He went down the stairs and nodded at another guard in a matching outfit, relieved to apparently appear passing. At last he reached the place he was supposed to stand guard in and he looked around. Three exits and a window. He couldn’t see any other guards or suspicious looking persons, so he grabbed the glass device and hesitantly pressed the button on the side. The screen lit up and Steve blinked in surprise.

“All Agents, code 13. Repeat, All agents, code 13. Keep a look out for a five foot four inch blond white man in a medical outfit. Assume he will use physical violence when found or cornered,” echoed over the intercom.

Well, that was him, but he was both taller in this uniform and his head and eyes were covered. ‘Swipe to unlock’ he read on the device.

Steve hesitantly touched the screen, dragging the bar to the side. Wow. He pressed the button that looked like a phone and scrolled through the ‘contacts.’ The device was a phone, he realized. A small wireless phone.

He backed out of that and clicked the calendar.

May 6th 2012.

The floor dropped out from under him and his focus narrowed to the burning number. He felt hot and cold and dizzy at the same time. That explains it, he thought in shock. How had he survived? It’s been nearly seventy years. Oh god, _seventy years_. Where was Bucky? Was he dead?

Steve took a breath to calm his nerves. Blend, observe. He needed more information. He exited the calendar and flipped through the rest of the screen buttons. Apps, he learned quickly. He found one labeled ‘Chrome’ and figured why not.

He found himself somewhere called ‘Google.’ There was a little magnifying glass next to a bar. He tapped the bar and a little keyboard popped up. On a whim, he typed in World War II. The magnifying glass was used when searching for something or taking a closer look, so he tapped that too. A list of blue text with black text underneath it appeared and he was so thrown that he tapped the first for the hell of it.

Wikipedia. Strange name, but maybe it was an encyclopedia, as the ends matched. He read the first bit of text, finding out that this thing was a page on the accounts of the war. The war nearly 70 years ago. He didn’t look for too long, too worried about what the outcome may have been. He didn’t want to know yet. Dread made him feel shaky and anxious down to his bones. Better to have deniability. He felt sick with nerves. He desperately wanted his pipe.

Next he looked up SHIELD and got… nothing. At least, nothing about an organization yet. He started to scroll.

“Play games on your own time,” someone snapped and Steve jumped, seeing a scowling one eyed black man before him.

Steve shoved the phone in his pocket. “Sorry, sir.” The man had an air of authority, so sir was definitely correct. Probably. At that he felt a little hope for the future. A black man in a position of power was… indescribable, impossible. Steve had walked by so many fountains and stores with signs saying ‘White Only’ or ‘Colored.’ In fact, he had stolen some of those signs or switched them.

The black man eyed him and went on, his dark leather jacket swishing behind him. Steve uneasily remembered Schmitt's outfit and felt worry claw at his stomach.

“Did you hear? Two preserved Hydra soldiers from World War II! They’re still alive!” A woman told her companion in excitement. Steve turned to watch the pair walk down the hall.

“I know!” The scientist replied in excitement. “Rumors say that they’ve been given some sort of enhancement that allowed them to survive being frozen for that long. They say Arnim Zola, Hydra’s head scientist, gave them the special injections. There are records of people being experimented on in Hydra, it makes sense that they would do something like that once they hit a breakthrough.”

“They’re in contained medical right now. I passed their rooms a few times. It’s crazy! The scientific appeal!”

Well, that was how he survived, but more importantly, those two referred to a pair of soldiers. Him and Bucky, hopefully. Steve was pretty certain they killed nearly everybody else. He really hoped it wasn't one of those fuckers, or he was going to strangle the man in his hospital bed.

Steve grabbed the scrap of map out of his pocket and looked for the medical area, where he came from.

Two floors down. Wait, scratch that. Three.

Steve looked around and spotted two guards walking his way. He waited until they passed before going himself. He got into the elevator this time, momentarily confused by the buttons before getting a hold of himself. Go with the flow, act natural. He pressed the right button and waited. He shoved his arm into his bag and slid on the shield, just in case. He angled his arm in a way that made him able to pull his shield out quickly as he dropped the bag.

One floor down, the elevator opened again and a woman stepped on, tapping away at a device. “Oh, hey.”

“‘Ma’am,” he said back, forcing himself to calm down.

“Where are you headed?”

“Medical, thee floors down.”

“Ah, I’m going up to HR. Hey, are you new?”

“Yes,” Steve said instantly.

“Thought so,” she nodded. “I would have recognized your voice. I work on the guard stuff.”

“That’s swell,” he said.

“Swell? Gosh, how old are you? You talk like my grandpa.”

Steve forced himself to shrug knowing he might be old enough just for that. That idea made him feel almost sick and his stomach churned. “I’m an old fashioned fella.” She laughed and the elevator opened for the medical floor. “See you around,” Steve offered.

“Sure, bye!”

Steve looked around and decided to go down the darker corridor. The one with no windows and two patrolling guards.

He started forward and almost thought he would get there until the same voice of the black man called down the hall. “Stop right there.”

Steve looked behind him, pretending to searched for another person the man told to freeze. Unfortunately, that gun was definitely pointing at him. There was a row of guards behind the other man and the two in the hall were also pointing their guns at him, slowly backing closer to the rest of them, away from Steve.

“Ah, shit,” Steve cussed. This went FUBAR quickly. These guys were good.

“You almost fooled us, but not quite. Put down the bag.”

“Nah, I’m not gonna,” Steve said.

The man flicked off his safety. “One more chance.”

Steve shifted so that he could pull his arm out at any given moment. “No.”

Steve yanked the shield out just as the man fired and crouched behind it, the bullets bouncing off harmlessly as the shield finally clicked into a complete shape. Once the shots stopped, Steve flicked a notch of the shield down and grabbed one of the guns from the bag, letting it rest there. 

“Fall back!” the man ordered, and Steve shot out the light about them with one bullet. While they were distracted, ducking out of the way, Steve grabbed his bag and ran into reinforced door to his left, busting into the other man’s room and effectively trapping both of them in there.

“Come out of there! This doesn’t need to get messy!”

Steve scrambled up and set the door landscape against the open door as a short barricade. He quickly looked out. The small army hadn’t moved much, only set up their own barricade with sides to duck against gun fire. Someone took a shot at him and he yanked his head back in.

He was caved in, but he had an advantage. He had had them in a medical wing. Nobody wanted any casualties, especially not here.

For a while, nobody said anything.

_ “Hostage situation on the medical floor, all agents avoid the fourth floor until otherwise notified or instructed. Floors five and three are to be evacuated immediately,”  _ filtered over the intercom.

Well, that answered that. Steve busied himself with reinforcing the room. He closed the blinds, set up the chairs in better positions, and crushed the video cameras in the corners. There was a first aid kit on the wall just in case. He finally forced himself to look at the bed and nearly cried when he saw Bucky laying there. Thank god. He could easily sit by Bucky’s bed and keep an eye on all entrances and exits.

He even had a view of the vents and the bathroom was easy to access too, but that would probably be for emergencies. Steve stripped out of the pieces of the uniform he didn’t need. The thick jacket, for one, though he left the heavy vest on. He got rid of the gloves too. He had small hands, no need to make it hard on himself. 

Upon taking the gloves off, he realized that his twine ring was missing. Anger and sadness filled him at the loss, but he had Bucky. He didn’t need the ring as long as he had Bucky. He kept the under-suit on, though. Less exposed skin that way.

Next he tore the straps and cuffs off Bucky and squeezed Bucky's remaining hand. "I'm here," he whispered, if only to himself. He sat at the bedside, waiting for about an hour with a high powered gun in his lap and his shield on his arm. He held Bucky’s hand when he could, the warmth of Bucky’s hand grounding him, reminding Steve that Bucky was alive.

He was considering trying to look up more things with the phone, but decided not to when he heard- “I don’t give a shit, Director Fury, I’ve got patients over there!”

“This is a hostage situation!” the head of the group snapped sharply. “I am not authorizing-”

“Waitaminute, how many patients?” Steve questioned.

There was a pause. “Six, including the man in that room.”

Steve rubbed his face. “I’ll let medical professionals by,” he called. “But that’s it. No weapons, no funny buisness.”

Fury, the director apparently, said, “Fine.”

Steve stood up and watched as several nurses and doctors walked slowly down the hall, eyeing him nervously. A nurse carefully looked into the room with an armful of equipment.

“May I?” she asked. Steve nodded and she stepped over the busted door more confidently, walking straight over to Bucky and working quickly.

Steve watched her replace Bucky’s bandages, seeing the damage first hand. His arm was cut shorter than it was zapped off, but a good six inches of his bicep was left.

“How’s he doing?” Steve asked.

“He’s healing faster than expected,” she reported. “No sign of infection. He’s still on heavy painkillers and a tranquilizer, but he’s fine otherwise.”

“Why’s he on a tranquilizer?” Steve asked, indignant.

“Two reasons, one, to let the damage heal, and two, because they don’t want him to wake up yet. They thought interrogating you first would be safer, because you’re smaller.”

Steve couldn’t stop the laugh. “Sorry t’disappoint.”

She gave him a small smile.

“Can you take ‘im off the tranq?”

She went tight-lipped and didn’t meet his eyes, shying away. “I can,” she allowed, but implied that she wasn’t supposed to.

“Would you do that for me?” Steve asked. She glanced up, looking worried. “I ain’t gonna shoot ya if ya don’t. I'm not a monster.”

She looked relieved to have the option. “I’ll take him off.”

Eventually she finished up and left, the other doctors now allowed to go back and forth to check on their patients as Steve staked out in Bucky’s room. Steve stayed that way for another twelve hours, feeling exhausted but continuing to pace and sit about the room. In his exhaustion he almost didn’t notice that the doctors trips stopped.

Steve crouched by the door and took off his helmet, tilting his shield and putting his ear to the edge. “Barton… vents… risky…” he heard spoken quietly, using the shield to catch the sound. That was all he needed. If they were going to send an agent through the vents, he’d be ready. He had to be careful though. He didn’t want Bucky to get injured, so he shoved his guns in the bag and put that between Bucky’s feet.

He put the shield on his arm at at the ready and stood next to the vent, out of direct view. His hearing was enhanced, so of course he heard the quiet shuffle. He heard the silent breath the man let out and the tiny taps when the man put his hand on the vent cover, likely looking around.

After a second, Barton quietly opened the grate and pulled it in soundlessly. He got a little closer and Steve grabbed him by the back of his shirt, pulling the man up and out as he yelped in surprise. Steve threw him to the floor roughly and Barton rolled over, firing a gun. The bullet hit Steve right in the shoulder and Steve kicked the gun out of Barton’s hand on instinct. 

Angry disbelief shot him with that bullet and Steve punched Barton in the face before grabbing the man’s by the throat and dragging him up, slamming Barton against the wall.

His other hand went up, shield ready to deliver a final blow. He felt Barton's shallow and panicked gasping breath under his hand. “Please…”

Steve hesitated, the silence deafening.

He could see the fear in Barton's eyes, the pleading desperation, the terror, the desperate will to live. Steve faltered, remembering the expression of prisoners at Schmidt's first camp. He tried to steel himself, but he was 70 years in the future. It wasn’t black and white anymore. Or at least, he didn’t know black from white here.

Steve slammed the shield into the wall so it drove nearly six or seven inches in. The crack was almost sickening, but the silence made it ring out through the air. Barton jerked under his hand.

“Agent Barton!” Director Fury shouted worriedly, and now that Steve thought about it, that noise sounded similar to bones being crushed or snapped. “Agent Barton, report!” It came from both the man himself and a small device in Barton's ear.

Barton continued staring at Steve, not answering. Steve palmed at Barton's ear and took out the device. He dropped Barton to the floor, where the man gasped in air noisily. Steve grabbed his face, pointing threateningly. “If anybody fires any more shots in or at this room, I’ll kill ‘em,” he sneered.

Steve picked Agent Barton up again and threw him through the window, the glass bursting out in a spray of shards. Steve watched Barton scramble back to the barricade as fast as he could, nearly tripping over himself. Steve leaned out the busted window and put his middle finger up, yanking back when Fury brought up his gun.

Steve paced for a second before fixing the device in his ear, listening to the chatter over it, the spewing orders and growled frustrations. There were multiple people on, from what Steve could hear.

“Listen up asshole, neither of us want this stand off and neither of us want anybody to die, so you’re going to answer some questions of mine, got it?” Steve said, and the chatter stopped.

There was a pause. “ _Just questions_?”

“Do we have a deal?” Steve asked.

_ “Ask away.” _

“Where are we?”

_ “A SHIELD base in the US. New York City, to be specific.” _

“And what’s SHIELD supposed t’be?”

_ “We’re a global peacekeeping organization.” _

Steve rubbed his forehead. Not exactly helpful. Nazi’s would have some form of that if they won too. “Okay, next question, who won the war?”

There was another pause. _“Who do you want to have won the war?”_

“Don’t you fuckin’ bullshit me!” Steve growled angrily. “I want a straight fuckin’ answer! Was it the Axis? Or the Allies?”

_ “Are you going to do something rash if I tell you the answer?” _

“Depends on the answer. I wanna know what world I’ve woken up to, and I’ll be damned if I live under the one I was fighting against.”

_ “...The Allied troops won. Hitler died in 1945 and so did his reign. Hydra was decommissioned by the SSR some time before that.” _

Oh thank god. Oh, thank god. Relief crashed over him like a wave. Steve leaned against the wall and slowly dropped, his legs suddenly weak. Everything he fought for, bled for, killed for, died for, it had been worth it. Steve tried to muffle his tears, a hand cupped over his mouth to prevent him from making any sound as tears spill over his cheeks.

_ “If you off yourself, I’m going to have to ask you to not do the same to your friend in there. Let him have that choice himself.” _

Steve couldn’t help laughing a bit. “I ain’t gonna kill myself. God, I just wanna go outside,” he said longingly. “It’s been forever since I’ve been home. I wanna see what it’s like.”

Someone softly whispered ’ _the fuck_?’ over the device.

Steve felt dizzy and remembered the gun shot wound. “Ah, shit,” he mutters, putting pressure on it.

_ “So let me get this straight; you're glad the Allies won?” _

“I’ve never gotten better news in my life,” Steve said honestly, closing his eyes and just breathing.

_ “What’s your name?” _

“Ha, well, I ain’t got a name.”

The man made a frustrated growl noise.  _ “Any identifier then. A rank?” _

“SSR Infiltrationist, codename ‘the Captain,’ standin’ down,” Steve said hazily. “Sorry about the mess.” Maybe he was bleeding worse than he thought. “You’re friend got me pretty good. I think I need a medic.”

_“The Captain?!”_ Someone said, sounding astounded. Fury shushed them. _“Are you going to shoot someone if we let a team collect you?”_

“Nah,” Steve sighed. “Go ‘head.”

Steve heard commotion in the hall and soon two guards, Director Fury, and two nurses came in. Fury looked at the wall above him and then Steve. Steve glanced up too, seeing a line of blood from where Steve slid down. The nurses quickly got to work, taking off the vest, putting pressure over the bullet wound and talking over him about what they would need to fix the problem.

“Hey, when ya caught up to me, how'd ya know?” Steve slurred to Director Fury. “That I wasn’t a guard.”

“We have a schedule for all the guards. You were the only one who wasn't where he was supposed to be. It worked for thirty minutes, which is actually a record. The last person who tried only got through fifteen.”

The nurses cut him off. “He needs to get this fixed. Surgery included. He’s bleeding out.”

“You gotta-” Steve slurred. “Four times the dose of anything. Metabolism too fast. Can’t even get drunk.” And he passed out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How to Fuck Up Your First 13.5 Hours in the New Century by Steve Rogers.
> 
> Also, some people might wonder why SHIELD didn't know that Steve was Cap and Bucky was, well, Bucky.  
> Officially, Steve doesn't exist. His files are nothing. He's just a name with no substance. His SSR file is nothing but black. He could be anybody to SHIELD, especially when wearing a Hydra uniform and in a airplane with dead Nazis. The SSR files about him and his team were put into storage that was classified, so every modern person only knows what was spoken over the radio, including SHIELD!
> 
> Furthermore, the SSR didn't mention the Valkyrie in any files, as they didn't know it's location or anything. The public, and SHIELD, just know Cap and Sergeant Barnes crashed a ship on it's way to the US. They don't even know what direction in was going. It could have gone down over the Atlantic, the Arctic, anywhere. That being, that ship could have been any ship, so when SHIELD found it they were interested, but didn't know Cap was there. They might have figured it out soon, but hadn't yet as it was still being excavated.
> 
> So, clearly, finding out they shot the MOST HONORED WAR HERO EVER was a PRETTY BIG FUCKIGN SURPRISE!


	12. Resilient

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Resilient: Able to recoil or spring back into shape.

Steve woke up in another hospital bed, but this time he wasn’t cuffed. He blinked open his eyes and took stock of himself. He had a sling on and his shoulder itched in a way that told him he was healing. In the corner of the room Agent Barton was reading some sort of newspaper, a bright purple hand print obvious around his throat.

“Sorry I threw ya through a window,” Steve said hoarsely, catching Agent Barton’s attention. “The rules said medical proxy only.”

Barton blinked. “You’re a little shit!” he said, actually surprised, like he hadn’t expected it.

Steve laughed and laughed until he started coughing. A nurse stormed in, snapped at Barton, and then checked Steve’s shoulder, surprised to find it was already showing evidence of healing. She left after changing the bandages.

“Where’s Bucky?” Steve asked.

“Who names their kid Bucky?”

“It’s a nickname,” Steve groaned, forcing himself to sit up. He grabbed the glass of water off the side table and drank half of it. He shook his head to clear it and took a deep breath, jumping down from the bed and wobbling.

“Hey, woah!” Barton said, jumping up and starting over to help him.

Steve ignored him, pulling off the things they stuck to him. The nurse stormed back in. “Are you fucking serious?” she asked.

“I wanna see Bucky,” Steve said.

“Get back in the bed,” she commanded.

“Hey, you guys shot  _ me _ !” Steve protested, but he knew how stubborn nurses could get and considered a few ideas in a second. “Put my bed in his room or I’ll walk down there won’t leave.”

She glared, looked up to the ceiling, and said, “Fine.”

 

* * *

 

 

So Steve found himself in Bucky’s room. His shield was still stuck in the wall, but the blood and dust had been cleaned away. A small group of people were currently putting in a new door and window which just made Steve feel a little bad.

Director Fury stepped in with a folder in his hands. “Captain. I see you’ve made yourself comfortable.”

“I don’t leave my men behind,” Steve said.

Fury pulled at Steve’s shield, frowning when it didn’t budge. “Hope you’re getting that out at some point.”

“As soon as the nurses don’t come storming back in to tell me to get my ass back in bed,” he snarked.

Fury's lips twitched. “We confirmed that fact that you are the Captain, with some difficulty. File’s pretty sparse.” Fury opened the folder to show Steve blacked out page after page and a photograph with his eyes scratched out with a few thick lines. “But at least it had most of a picture and your fingerprints. We’re working on getting an unclassified file, but it’s proving difficult. The Howling Commandos more complete files than this.”

“I don’t take it personally.”

“Nothing mentioned you were enhanced,” Fury added. “Though I guess in retrospect it’s not surprising.”

Steve shrugged. 

Fury rubbed his head and sighed in frustration. “Okay. Let me tell you what I’m going through right now. We woke you up first because we didn’t want to stress the other guy and, based on physical appearance, you were the least dangerous, even if enhanced. Then you, a person I thought was just a tiny enhanced Nazi, broke out of contained medical, disguised yourself, and led us on a wild goose chase for half an hour. Because of our disgusting lack of communication, all we knew about you was that you were dangerous, smart, and stronger than the average human. For thirty minutes our security experts were clueless, but then you start moving and I apprehend you in that hall.”

“Yeah, you told me t’drop the bag.”

“I did, because I didn’t know what was in it. Explosives, weapons? You then proceed to hold a stand off for over thirteen hours, sending my supervisors into a frenzy, so I send Agent Barton through the vents. Risky move, sure, but this needed to end. You beat the shit out of him, clearly, but all we heard was a scuffle, a shot fired, a pause, and then a sickening crunch. Over the communicator it sounded like his neck was broken or skull crushed. You don’t kill him, thank god, but after that, my agents and I started arguing about how to handle the situation. 

“Luckily you figure out the comm and start asking questions. I was honest to god sure you were a Nazi and were going to off yourself when you heard that the Allies won, so I tried to avoid that, problem being that you tell me to cut the bullshit and give you real answers.

“I tell the person I assume is a Nazi that the Allies won and I hear something that’s either laughing or crying, so again I think you’re going to kill yourself and imagine my surprise when you spout shit about wanting to go outside and being home.

“And, well, now you’ve gone and thrown everyone off. We then discover three things; one, that you were SSR, which is what SHIELD was before a name change. Two, that you're a spy, which explains how good you were at what you did. And three, that you're the Captain; a World War Two national hero.

“And that’s where things went tits up. We find out that that man we thought was a Nazi was actually a highly respected and honored national hero who we just shot in one of our hospital rooms. That’s one of the worst ‘of shit’ moments we’ve had around here. Felt like one of us shot the president. We load you up on a gurney after you pass out, but we don’t get you out of the room before your friend over there wakes up. He freaks over the fact that the nurses are trying to save your life and we have to sedate him again.” Fury sighs. “Hell, we should have woken him up first, because he started calling out “Captain” which confirmed what you said.”

“Now that we know who you are, we go to validate it and find a file of black sharpie marker and half a photograph. Luckily you match what we can see on the photograph and your fingerprints are identical, otherwise we could have called bullshit. Besides that, we know nothing about you other than what we’ve learned from history books that have transcriptions of the radio reports of the Howling Commandos attacks. So, Captain, that’s all we know about you.”

Steve stared for a minute. “I can see how that would be a pain in the ass. I’ll answer some questions.”

Fury pulled out a device, one of those large phone things. “Great. Well, I assume you don’t want to tell me everything, and clearly I’ll suddenly be smarter than most historians on this topic, so I’ll go easy on you. What’s your name, Captain?”

“Full name?”

“Whatever you’re willing to give,” Fury said.

“Steve.”

“Huh,” was all Fury said. “Age?”

“24.”

Fury looked up at him, blinking in surprise. “You’re young,” he said. “I thought you’d be almost thirty or something, with all you did.”

“I was born in 1920,” Steve said. “On the fourth of July. I was going to turn 25 in a few months.” He trained off, thinking of how that time change would work.

“Huh,” Fury said. “Well, where were you born?”

“Brooklyn.”

“That explains the home thing,” Fury nods. “I assume that that’s Sergeant James Barnes?”

Steve nodded. “We were friends as children, he’s the only one who knows who I am.” 

“Interesting,” Fury noted. “I’ll get his file too. Hopefully it’s got less black in it. Now, since you’ve missed seventy years, we’ve got a lot to get you caught up on, but we’re holding off on that until you’re both fully healed and ready to go over that much history.”

“That’s… fair.” Steve really wanted to know more, but he had to admit showing year's worth of information on a few people who just got out of a coma sounded like a bad idea.

Fury rubbed his head.

“I can get you a history textbook about World War Two, though, so you know what happened back then.”

“Gotta start somewhere,” Steve said.

 

* * *

 

 

Steve was only two chapters into the textbook when Bucky woke up.  He heard Bucky’s breathing change, so he looked over to see Bucky turning his head to the side, trying to sit up. “Steve? Steve!”

Steve shot out of his bed. “I’m here. I’m here Buck.”

Bucky blinked at him and then reached out. “Steve, oh thank god.” Steve was pulled into a tight one-armed hug. He hugged back just as hard, careful of Bucky’s injury and his own. “Jesus, Steve, I just saw the mess and them picking you off the ground and the bloodstain on the wall and I thought you were dead and they killed ya!”

“They tried,” Steve said, laughing and pulling away. Bucky rubs his thumb over Steve’s cheek and then shakes some sense into himself, putting his hand on Steve’s shoulder instead. More friendly than intimate.

“What happened?” Bucky asked.

Steve rubbed his eyes. “I woke up first and panicked. Thought we were in enemy captivity. We aren’t, by the way, but it took me thirteen hours to figure it out.”

“How’d ya get shot then?”

“They thought we were Nazi’s and I... might have escalated everything and made a hostage situation of it.”

Bucky gave him a look. “Y’know, I ain’t even surprised.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Shut up, ya big jerk. Anyway, they sent a guy through the air vents and he got off a lucky shot. Tossed him through the window and then we were able to figure out how to communicate. I found out they weren’t Nazis and they found out I was SSR.”

“Oh, so they’re Allies?”

Steve grimaced. “Not quite,” he said carefully, watching Bucky’s expression. “You remember the crash, right? In the Arctic?”

Bucky’s eyes flicked around. “Yeah,” he said casually. “Ya got thrown through the air and I knocked my head into something.”

“We kinda… froze for a while. 'Cryogenic freeze,' so we were still alive under the ice.”

“So we didn’t die,” Bucky said. “What’s wrong?”

“We were frozen for a while. A long while.”

Bucky looked worried now. “How long? Steve, how long?” His fingers gripped Steve's shoulder hard.

“It’s been seventy years, Bucky. It’s 2012.”

Bucky stared, uncomprehending for a while, eyes sort of glazed. “Seven-- seventy years?”

“Yeah. We’re in the future.” That statement felt strange on his tongue, bitter, like a lie. The bitter part was that it wasn’t.

“You’re not-- You’re not pulling my leg?”

“No.”

“Not payback for Coney Island?”

Steve gave a snort and his lips twitched before getting serious again. “No. It’s really the future.”

“Did we-- did we win?”

“Yeah. We did. Hitler’s dead, Schmitt’s... well, you saw what happened t’Schmitt. No Nazi’s hiding around.”

“Oh… Missing the end of the war is kinda anti climactic,” Bucky admitted.

Steve chuckled and nodded. “Feels fake, doesn’t it? Here, a guy gave me a history textbook on the War that I’m reading. We can find out what happened.”

“I-- I lost an arm.”

Steve certainly hadn’t forgotten about that, but he was glad Bucky brought it up first. “Yeah. But you’re healing and you’ll be fine.”

“But I’ve got no arm,” Bucky repeated. “Can’t do anything with one arm.”

“You can be a jerk just fine with one, don’t you lie,” Steve retorted, grabbing the book off his bed and going back over to Bucky’s bed. “Scoot over.”

Steve got on Bucky's right side so that both of their good arms were pressed up against each other. They both pointed out stuff on the pages to each other and eventually fell asleep that way, the book across their laps and leaning into each other.

 

* * *

 

 

Steve woke up to a nurse draping a blanket over their legs and he blinked at her for minute.

“Go back to sleep,” she whispered, taking the book and saving their place.

Steve hummed and put his head back on Bucky’s shoulder.


	13. Brontide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brontide: The low rumble of distant thunder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for PTSD and the like. A character, not the POV, has a episode where they have a flashback/dissociate.

The next morning a nurse explained to them that getting Bucky to physical therapy sooner rather than later would benefit him the long run. It would even make getting a prosthetic easier. They said that SHIELD would be more than happy to provide both, after all. Bucky agreed and a young woman came in around lunchtime to talk with Bucky about it.

When Bucky wasn’t doing that, they squished together on Bucky’s bed to read and navigate their way through the textbook. Steve’s shoulder healed quickly, with barely any therapy, and Bucky followed him soon after, though his physical therapy continued.

Steve knew, subconsciously, that neither of them escaped the reality of war unscathed, but he hadn't expected shell shock to hit either of them that hard. He was going about a normal day, catching up as usual, when a nurse threw the door open.

“There’s a problem with Sergeant Barnes, he’s collapsed and and he’s not responding to stimulus.”

Steve was up and following her before he could blink. He didn't even realize he was walking through the halls until he came to the PT room. Bucky was laying on the floor, rigid and straight as a board, mumbling to himself as he stared unseeingly at the ceiling.

“Jesus, what happened?” Steve asked, getting to his knees beside Bucky.

“I’m not sure,” the therapist said, “I just asked if he was ready to begin and he fell over!”

Bucky looked just like he did in Zola’s experiment chamber, pale and gone from his mind. Steve blinked, was Bucky remembering his time there? Steve moved Bucky’s hand up onto his chest and squeezed it. Next he bent Bucky’s knees a bit, emphasizing the fact that they weren’t strapped down either. He cupped Bucky’s cheek with his hand.

“Bucky,” he said, leaning over his best friend. “It's me, it's Steve.”

Bucky stared for a little bit, thought the mumbling (name, rank, serial code) stopped.

“Look at me. You’re safe. Come on, I’m here. It’s Steve.”

“Steve,” Bucky mumbled blankly. His eyes started seeking him out, fuzzy and unfocused. “Steve?”

Steve carefully pulled Bucky up into a sitting position and let Bucky lean against him. “It’s me, you’re okay.”

“What happened? Where are we?” Bucky managed.

“We’re in the SHIELD base. It’s 2012,” he added, rubbing the back of Bucky’s head. “You’re in the PT room.”

“I’m tired,” Bucky said into Steve’s shoulder.

“That’s okay. You can take a nap anytime you like.”

Bucky nodded into his shoulder and brought up clumsy arms to grab at Steve’s shirt. Apparently, Steve was where he was going to take a nap. That was fine.

“Do you know what that was?” the therapist asked.

Steve clammed up. “I know what it was,” was all he said. He remembered asking Bucky the first night they stayed in the same tent together. He remembers the way Bucky stilled, the tiny choked sobs and trembling shudders Steve could feel under his hands. Steve remembers frantically telling Bucky he didn’t have to tell him, remembers how Bucky nodded and tucked his head under Steve’s chin, clinging tight to the front of Steve’s shirt.

“You’re not going to tell me?” She asked, like she was making sure, not like she was disapproving.

“No.”

“That’s fine,” she said. “But he should see professional help about whatever triggered this.”

“What, like a shrink?”

She nodded. “He only responded to you.” She considered him for a second. “Have you been having any issues like this?”

“No,” he said honestly. “I’ll have nightmares sometimes, and I guess I’m a little tense, but I haven’t been collapsing or anything.”

She considered. “I’ll put in a referral to one of our guys.”

“I’ll talk to Bucky about it when he wakes up,” Steve agrees. "But for now, I'm taking him back to our room so he can rest."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clearly, my take on Bucky's mental illness is open to suggestions!
> 
> Also, my explanation; I believe that if Bucky and Steve both got out of the war the same way, Bucky would still have the defense mechanism he had back in Zola's lab. It was pretty clear that Bucky wasn't all there when Steve found him that first time, but Steve's presence helped Bucky snap out of it (which I assume is because of friendship/gay magic.) Either way, Bucky's collapse was a defense mechanism. He hears trigger words, or phrases as it were, and it triggers the flashback/dissociative episode.


	14. Latibule

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Latibule: A hiding place; a place of safety and comfort.

Bucky started seeing his PT worker and a therapist from that point on. Each week he talked with the doctor for about thirty minutes. He didn’t like it, in fact, he said he hated it, but he also said it helped a little. He even compiled a list of phrases that triggered him. Sentences like ‘Are you ready to begin,’ ‘Let’s proceed,' ‘Stop moving,’ and ‘Be quiet.’ He didn’t do well with being restrained in any manner and he hated needles. That fact made Steve especially glad neither of them had a drip.

Bucky hated that he could be reduced to a mumbling mess by sentences, hated how the war affected him, and hated having to go to therapy, but Steve didn’t let him put himself down.

“Everybody comes outta the war different, that’s nothin’ to be ashamed of,” he said one day. “We both know that war is hell, but you're here and you're getting better. You’re not the kind of guy who lets war beat him up any. Look attcha, you’re still standing and the War has long given up and died. Don’t let it make you ashamed of being alive.”

To which Bucky simply replied, ‘Buttercup,’ and hugged him close.

The doctor suggested Bucky get a therapy dog to help him out and be there in case he has another episode and Steve wasn't there to help. Steve liked the idea immensely. He always wanted a dog and even if it was only around to help Bucky, that would still be a nice change.

Bucky agreed, only a little reluctantly, and SHIELD went out looking.

They were moved into a new living space on base. A nice place with two tiny bedrooms, a nice small bathroom, a cozy little living room, and a mini kitchen. Even with how small the SHIELD agent said it was, it was still so much larger than their apartment back in Brooklyn. The size of the place made Steve feel short and scrawny, even though he already knew he was.

When night time came around, Steve flopped over the bed in ‘Bucky’s’ room for the first time, Bucky on his other side. They lay quietly for a few moments.

“What... the fuck,” Steve said slowly.

“Are we... sinking?”

“No, we can’t be.” Steve sat up and looked around. “No. Not sinking.”

“I feel like I’m lying on a marshmellow.”

Steve lied back down. “I feel like I’m gonna sink to the floor.”

“Me too. What the hell?”

Steve shucked off the blanket. “Yep. This isn’t working. I’m sleeping under the bathroom sink. I found out I can fit in this afternoon when I was scoping the place out and it was pretty comfortable.”

Steve took the second blanket and crammed himself in the little space. Bucky came in a minute later and threw a pillow and a comforter into the tub, settling in. One foot stuck up over the edge

“Oh yeah, this is so much better,” Bucky agreed. “Just gotta- fuckin’- there.” Bucky was now laying sideways with one leg drawn up to his chest and the other up over the lip of the tub, his foot barely brushing the tile.

Steve wiggled a bit, bunching up his blanket to support his leg. “‘M gonna fall asleep,” he said, already feeling comfortable and safe. His leg was kind of stuck out of the cupboard too, so he bumped feet with Bucky.

“M’ too. Night.”

Because of their relocation, they were given, being a strong term, two people; one, a guide through the history they missed, and two, a guide everywhere else whom they had not yet met.

Their history guide, Mellissa Erving, was a firm and brash woman. She gave them documentaries that they watched while curled up on the couch. They ate junk food and tried cooking for themselves. Their guide quickly remembered that in their era (and how strange was that to say) they just boiled everything so she brought six cookbooks and told them to make something that didn’t taste like potatoes.

Agent Erving also gave them books, allowing them to catch up at their own pace.

Their guide through the century appeared one day with their usual delivery, usually textbooks and movies and such, but now she held a small stack of books in her hands, looking down at them like she thought they might be a bomb.

“Okay,” she said at last. “We’ve been going over a lot of world wide or national affairs,” she started. “But quite a few social justice movements happened during that time too. You're going to have to get used to some new things like those issues being relevant, like the civil rights movement and, um, this. Take a look and remember that I can ask for someone to come down here and put you through sensitivity training.”

Steve had no idea what she was talking about until she handed him the books and he looked down at them.

_ The Long Arc of Justice: Lesbian and Gay Marriage, Equality, and Rights _

_ Gay Revolution: The Story of the Struggle _

_ Queer America: A GLBT History of the 20th Century _

_ Stonewall: The Riots That Sparked the Gay Revolution _

At first he was confused by ‘gay.’ Happy marriage? What was that? But then he really started looking at realizing what it actually meant using clues. Lesbian marriage. It hit Steve all of a sudden and then Steve couldn’t fucking breathe. His chest was tight and his eyes were wet as he just read the titles of these books again and again. His hand shot up to cover his mouth.

“Steve?” Bucky asked, concerned. “What is it?”

Steve couldn’t speak, he was holding the books like they were the most precious things on earth. Bucky grabbed one, flipped it to read the cover, and sucked in a quick breath, his eyes going wide. “Oh my god.”

Steve looked over at Bucky and pointed to ‘Gay Marriage’ on the book Bucky grabbed.

“I need to sit down,” Bucky said and his knees promptly gave out, putting him back on the couch. “You're not- like, pullin’ our legs?” Bucky asked Erving.

“No, same-sex couples can get married in some states, they can’t be arrested for being gay or queer, and we’ve even had openly gay men in political offices. So… do I need to get sensitivity up here?” she asked, sighing in resignation.

Steve felt light headed and desperately wanted his pipe. He forgot to ask for that back. He still couldn’t breath. Thoughts flashed through his mind like mad, just short words, phrases that didn’t fit into what he understood. Gay rights. Gay marriage. A gay revolution focusing on giving queer people rights. Rights to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness, just like he fought, bled, and died for.

Steve sat next to Bucky heavily, still staring at the books in hand. Steve put the books on his knees and grabbed Bucky’s shirt. Bucky took his hand and squeezed. Steve choked out a sob, his other hand coming up to cover his mouth as emotions raced through his every nerve. Bucky laced their fingers together and rested his forehead on Steve’s shoulder letting out his own shaky breath. 

“Oh!” Erving said. “Well, that changes everything. I’ll just… see myself out then. Give you a minute.”

When she left, they held each other through tears of relief of not having to hide for fear of being beaten, killed, discriminated against. For relief of having the ability to marry at long last. The relief to be queer and  _ proud of it _ . Bucky made them matching string rings and they stayed up for days reading those books.

Steve stole a tablet in order to read more queer history online and while he was at it he stole his pipe back even though it didn't have any tobacco. It still felt nice to have something between his lips when he was reading.  Before the tablet was confiscated, they managed to read a lot about human rights campaigns, health and wellness issues, medical advances, and a whole slew of other stuff. It was amazing, how far they had come. Of course they had farther to go, there was no helping that, but it was so amazing what had been accomplished.

Eventually Steve got restless, itching to go outside, to see the world for himself with Bucky by his side. SHIELD still thought they weren’t ready, so Steve stole every coffee product he could find throughout eight floors and SHIELD decided maybe going out with their guide was a good idea.


	15. Énouement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Énouement: The bittersweetness of having arrived in the future, seeing how things turn out, but not being able to tell your past self.

Phil Coulson, the guide they were assigned, was a nice enough guy but he was also clearly a fan of the Captain. He floundered his way through explanations of comics and trading cards and then shut himself up, embarrassed.

The comics he told them about apparently depicted Steve as a freakishly buff man in a black catsuit. Each variation of the comic showed a different man as there was nothing to base the character off of, and among those designs included a redhead, a brunette, a supremely buff man, and, in one rendition, just an alien. The comics showed his infiltrations pretty accurately, despite the fact that the Captain depicted in them was much more conservative and proper than Steve was. He didn’t steal, didn’t really kill, and was too much of a goody two shoes to be a real goddamn person. A real lady charmer too, which made Steve roll his eyes and want to shove his hand down Bucky’s pants to prove a point.

Anyway, that Captain didn’t carry a shield either, likely because it wasn’t common information.

But back to the mall. Steve observed his surroundings, seeing the mannerisms and behaviors of those around him. He didn’t realize he was copying them, thumbs in his pockets, ignoring those around him, and looking at his watch when he didn’t want to make eye contact, until Bucky dragged him close and said, “You’re blendin’.”

“Sorry.”

“S’okay, I’m just tellin’ you in case ya didn’t know.”

Agent Coulson cut in. “I was thinking we could stop by a bookstore and an electronics store so we could get you some things. A computer or two, some phones, the works.”

Steve looked around, seeing many people staring at their phones. He almost wanted to point out how nobody was interacting with each other, but then he remembered how newspapers were nearly the same thing. Plus, those teenagers over there seemed to be having fun and laughing at whatever was on the middle one’s screen, so they couldn’t be all bad.

And that wasn’t even starting on how connected these people were. That man right there could call his family or friends at any old time if he wanted to.

“Yeah, good idea. Then we could stop some place to eat, maybe.”

“I’d kill for a steak dinner,” Bucky said, licking his lips.

“More like be killed by a steak dinner,” Steve joked and the two burst into snickers.

“Am I missing something?” Coulson asked.

Steve waved his hand. “When we captured Zola, General Philips treated him to a steak dinner to make him chummy. Zola thought we were trying to poison him. Funny as hell when Phillips started eating it instead.”

“It was only funny up until the point Zola said Schmitt wanted to bomb the USA, though.”

Steve sighed. “Yeah.”

“Well, after lunch we should get you some new clothes too,” Coulson said. “Things you want to wear, not what we give you. Keep in mind what we told you about inflation and you can actually ask to buy anything because SHIELD, and you, can afford it no matter the price.”

Bucky and Steve both got a good handful of history books each as well as a few novels. Steve got Madam President, two new books on the war, the Hobbit, a few classics, and a book on Barack Obama. A black president, he marveled. He never thought he'd live to see the day.

The electronics store was a bit of a bigger issue.

“Stark?” Bucky said in confusion, looking at the back of a phone.

“What about ‘im?” Steve asked, looking over.

“This phone, it's got ‘Stark’ written on it.”

Coulson looked over. “Oh, yes. Stark Industries is a leading manufacturer of phones, tablets, computers and electronics in general. Top of the line, best on the market. They’re the most reliable and the strongest products out there. Little on the expensive side, but still affordable. SHIELD uses a lot of Stark products.”

Steve and Bucky looked at each other. “Get ‘em?” Steve asked.

“Yeah, I want one. The silver lookin’ one.”

Steve looked over them as well. “I like the black one.”

“Everything you like is black,” Bucky said. “Black uniform, black shield, black pipe-”

“The pipe is black marble, and it’s got gold too.”

“Then get the gold one.”

“It’s too flashy, would make me look like a rich bastard. What kinda guy pulls a gold phone outta his pocket and says ‘ _ I gotta make a call? _ ’ ”

“Rich bastards. You know what we are now, Steve?”

Technically rich bastards, with all that back pay. Steve didn’t like thinking about that much money, sometimes, it made him feel strange. “You buy the gold phone then. I want the black one.”

Bucky stares at him for a second. “You know what? I want the gold phone, I’m buyin’ it.”

“Rich bastard,” Steve said as he rolls his eyes. “Now, what computer do you want?”

“The one with the big screen and large keyboard.”

“I want the silver-white one. Got any arguments, Sergeant?”

“Notta, Captain.”

 

* * *

 

 

They stopped for lunch and ordered a nice hot meal. Bucky got a steak with a side of mashed potatoes and green beans with a IPA, some kind of beer, and Steve got a large burger with a bunch of fries and a soda. Coulson got hot wings and a side of fries along with his water.

Steve and Bucky made some small talk with Coulson, but they also went to figure out how to set up their phones.

When the meal arrived Bucky reached for his knife to cut his steak and froze. Steve pretended not to notice, taking a bite of his burger and groaning when the smokey taste of cooked beef his his tongue.

“Oh, boy. You’ve got to try this,” Steve said, pushing his plate over to Bucky and scooting Bucky’s plate closer to him. “Lemme try a bit of this too. It looks better than what Phillips ate.” Bucky took the bait and Steve quickly cut up Bucky’s steak for him as Bucky sampled the burger. Steve ate a strip of steak and licked his lips, savoring the taste. As soon as he was done, he switched the plates again and they ate in peace.

He understood why Bucky was frustrated with this. It had to be annoying to be unable to do those things himself, especially because he had been able to previously. Steve also knew that Bucky hated being pitied, but Bucky seemed okay with Steve making those subtle excuses, so that would probably work.

Steve could tell that Coulson was itching with questions so he sighed and said, “What?”

Coulson jumped a bit and blinked at him, then pinking in embarrassment. “I’m just- a huge fan and, well, nobody knows anything about your history and I was thinking about, you know, how to ask without embarrassing myself.”

“Doin’ a pretty good job of that yourself anyway,” Bucky muttered under his breath and Steve swatted him.

“I’d need a more specific question than just ‘history,’” Steve said.

“How did you become the Captain?” Coulson blurted, but in a sophisticated manner.

Steve shrugged and ate a couple of fries. “I was chosen as a test subject by the head of the program that enhanced me,” Steve said. “Out of a group of twelve.”

“What happened to them?”

“They were dismissed,” Steve explained. “They didn’t qualify. Most of the selection process was based off character and they had pretty shitty character.” Steve drank from his soda. “Erskine didn’t want anymore Red Skulls.”

“So you saw the Red Skull?” Coulson asked eagerly. 

“He shot off my arm,” Bucky said meaningfully. “We did more than see him.”

“How did you defeat him?”

“We didn’t,” Steve said and at Coulson’s confused look added, “He grabbed the Tesseract and got himself evaporated.”

“Or something like it,” Bucky muttered.

Coulson seemed to chew on that for a minute, eating some fries. “Character?”

Steve huffed a laugh. “I’ve got no fuckin’ idea why I was selected considering that that was the real selection process. I punched Hodge in the teeth.”

“Why come?” Bucky asked. 

“I didn’t tell you?” Steve asked. “Coulda sworn…”

“Nah. We were too busy. Hydra bases ’n all.”

“I’ll tell you later,” Steve said shaking his head.

 

* * *

 

Shopping for clothes went smoother because they knew each other's tastes. It was easy to go ‘hey, you like this, right?’ and exchange the article over racks. 

“Y’gettin’ rainbow suspenders?” Bucky asked as Steve put them on his pile.

“You’re goddamn right I am.”

“But you’re bi?”

“Can’t find any of those,” Steve sighed. 

“A’right.”

Steve tended to go for darker colors and slim clothing where Bucky played with a little more color and stuck to reds and greens. He got a couple of T-shirts with designs on them and some nice ‘running’ shoes that were easy to put on with one hand.

“Black makes you look whiter and thinner,” Bucky said, pinching Steve’s butt as Steve tested out some black boots. “Everythin’s too big on ya.”

“Watch it, Bucko,” Steve playfully slapped Bucky’s hand away. “You’re just jealous that these pants make ass look better’n yours.”

Coulson coughed, flushing a bit red.

Bucky snagged a pair of thick glasses frames off a shelf and put them on Steve’s face. “Goth hipster motherfucker.”

Steve looked at the mirror. “You know what? I like these.”

“You would.”

“Hey, a lotta people have glasses and I look good in ‘em.”

“So this is a blendin’ thing.”

“Maybe,” Steve pulled Bucky close by his belt loops, looking up over the edge of the glasses. “Or maybe you just think I just look pretty.”

Bucky stared, his cheeks pinking. “Maybe just a bit.” Steve filed away that bit of information for later and went back to shopping.

Of course, even Steve noticed that not everybody wore black, so he got some light colored jeans, a white shirt, and a few t-shirts. He also noticed that people loved jackets, especially over sized hoodies, so he got a few of those too.

Next was underwear. Bucky got a few pairs of boxers and briefs, but Steve was only able to fit into briefs or child boxers, and he wasn’t about to let Bucky have the pleasure of using that against him. Coulson, luckily, let them do that themselves and stood outside the aisle while they tried to figure out sizes.

When they got back to their quarters, they unpacked their stuff, put it away, and spent the rest of the day setting up their computers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you have no idea how hard it is to find the perfect word for these chapters. So damn hard. If you've got a good one, tell me in the comments. I need the help.


	16. Hiraeth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hiraeth: Homesickness for a home to which you cannot return, a home which maybe never was; the nostalgia, the yearning, the greif for the lost places of your past.

Bucky met his dog match later that week. The fluffy, gigantic, white and brown dog named Charlie was a lovable and a happy dog, always willing to help out Bucky and follow him around. He had a neat blue vest and was a perfect gentle-dog. 

“Who’s a good boy?” Bucky said, grinning and scratching the top of Charlie’s head.

“ Boof, ” the dog heaved out quietly, wagging his tail, and Bucky laughed.

“That’s right, pal.”

Steve liked Charlie very much too.

 

* * *

 

 

“So…” Coulson started, making Steve look up from his book. Bucky snored underneath him. Lately, Steve had taken to using Bucky’s chest as a reading surface when he could shamelessly. Charlie glanced at Coulson, chewing on a fabric dog toy. “We’ve been accumulating everything relating to the Howling Commandos, you, and everything that had to do to you. We’ve, ah, found something that was yours, apparently. In storage. I’m actually really surprised nobody knew about this or reported it.”

“What is it?”

Coulson rubbed his face. “I don’t even want to say it out loud, but we can’t keep it or get rid of it, legally. Can you just- come with me?”

Steve tapped Bucky’s nose to wake him up. “Wuzzat?”

“Coulson said they found something of ours.”

“What?”

“Wouldn’t say. Must be something weird.”

Bucky sighed. “Alright, let's go see what it is.”

 

* * *

 

 

Steve stepped into the storage room, a wide, cold, large room filled with random things, and laughed hard enough for his stomach to hurt. Bucky started wheezing behind him.

“It’s-” Steve gasped. “It’s Rosie! They kept Ol’ Rosie!”

The dark, vaguely silver, tank in front of them was one of Hydra’s smaller models with the big cannon nozzle and everything. The difference being ‘GET FUCKED, HYDRA!” was painted in red on both sides.

He remembered the stinging rain that thundered on them one night. The others had squeezed inside, but it was a tight fit, so Steve had left to free up some space. He remembered shoving himself inside the nozzle feet first and eating a ration on his elbows, watching the lightning flash over the dark night sky, illuminating in split seconds before plunging back into watery blackness. 

He had stretched his hand out of just feel the cold icy drops, the freshness of the forest filling his senses.

The best thing about Schmitt's tanks is that he had made sure they couldn’t be affected by those energy beams. They used that to their advantage during their assaults endlessly. The spinning part of the tank, the place where a Hydra built gatling gun rested, was where the hatch inside was. In fact, you could kick it with your toe when firing to catch the occupants attention. The little flaw in that meant you had to be facing forward in order to get inside.

“That’s your new car, you don’t get to drive anything else,” Bucky cackled.

“I can’t believe you convinced me to write that!” Steve countered.

“Are you kiddin’? I wanted to write ‘DIE NAZI SCUM!’”

Steve threw back his head and laughed. “And I said there wasn’t nearly enough swearing in it!”

Steve strode over, noticing a spot where a tiny silver plaque was placed. The dust had been wiped from just that spot and Steve quickly looked over it.

_ If Sergeant Barnes and the Captain are ever found, this tank and these items belong to them. No questions or objections allowed. The SSR more-or-less wills it to them for their service and sacrifice. _

_ -Colonel Phillips, Agent Carter, and The Howling Commandos _

Steve jumped up and stood in the firing space, toying with the gun for a second. It didn’t have the energy battery snapped into it, so it wouldn't fire. Steve opened the hatch with a screeching clunk and slipped inside. It smelled like dust and oil, but he ignored that. He ducked the low ceiling and crawled forward. It was just how he remembered it, all neat except for the place where Steve and Bucky slept when they had this tank.

He could almost feel the violent rumbling and Bucky whoops and hollers in his ear as they demolished the Hydra base like some sort of demo derby. That was a good day. They even got the tank to themselves afterward. He would like to mention that it is nearly sound proof. He could see the pair of seats in the front, all the controls in front of that.

And a box. A few boxes, actually. Steve blinked, he didn’t recognize them and they were a pretty decent size too. 

“How’s it inside?” Bucky called in.

“Cozy and dirty,” Steve replied, wiping dust off the box. 

“Sounds like my kinda place.” Steve heard Bucky slip in after him and waved Bucky over to see. “Open it,” Bucky suggested.

Steve flicked the latches up and found a truly amazing present. A Hydra sniper rifle in sleek silver, two shining guns with silencers, energy attachments for the guns and the gun over the hatch, and the shining power source for the tank. The Tesseract was pure energy, maybe unlimited energy, so just a shard of it would last for the rest of their lives.

“Well, shit,” Bucky said.

There was also a second smaller box shoved inside. Steve grabbed that and jimmied it open, finding his tailored military uniform and hat, Bucky’s beside that. They’re both in excellent condition and their hats held a fistful of medals each.

Steve was suddenly punched in the chest by nostalgia. His breath hitched and he leaned against Bucky.

They were, for all intents and purposes, lost in an unfamiliar century. They were antiques, words in history books. Hell, it could be argued that Steve didn’t exist at all. He was nobody but what he said he was, and that could be anything. He could be a German named Friedrich for all anybody knew.

And here was his life; a uniform, a bunch of medals, and Fury’s blacked out file.

Bucky wrapped his arm around him, hand warm against his back and oh so strong. “Look on the bright side, we’ve got a tank,” Bucky said shakily.

Steve couldn’t help the startled laugh. “And enough firepower to level the state,” he added.

“That’s important,” Bucky agreed. “Open the other boxes, let’s see what’s inside.”

Those were less exciting, but no less emotion wracking. Stacks of pictures and film were stuffed inside them. From the Commandos camera and such, evidently. Lost of them were of the Commandos themselves, though a couple were of Steve and Bucky.

“Wanna see if we can park the tank in the main lot?”

“Course.”

They did get a special parking spot at the very back of the parking lot. The tank takes up about the same amount of room as two RVs, but that’s beside the point.

Steve and Bucky spend three days cleaning the place out and scrubbing ‘GET FUCKED, HYDRA!’ off. Not because they didn’t like it, but because Steve’s nice curving loopy ‘Rosie’ looked much better. They spend a lot of their time in it because it locked from the inside. That way nobody could bother them. Even Charlie liked it, but they didn’t keep the poor dog in there with them for a long time. It was cramped enough with two people.

They didn’t tell anyone about the energy batteries.

 

* * *

 

 

A few weeks later, SHIELD scrounged up the files on the Howling Commandos and the rest of their friends.

Bucky and Steve knew of the possibility that they were dead, but they made peace with that idea that they lived long happy lives without them already so it was less of a blow when they saw ‘Deceased’ stamped over the files.

Didn’t hurt any less, but they were glad they all lived well after Bucky and Steve’s ‘death.’ Charlie was vital to them in those times, a steady silent comfort.

 

* * *

 

 

Bucky got fitted for a prosthetic arm a week later. SHIELD had access to some of the best medical technologies and the arm moved like a regular arm, more or less. The finger dexterity wasn’t that great, but Bucky seemed relieved to be able to do a lot more than he was able to previously.

 

* * *

 

 

“Where can a guy buy some tobacco around here?” Steve gripped one day when reading about anti-vaxxers and all the bullshit people said about healthcare.  _ Pro-life _ , what a joke. 

“A smoke shop, generally,” someone said out of nowhere and Steve almost jumped, looking behind him to see a tall beautiful redhead in a SHIELD catsuit. Bucky fell off his stool and cursed loudly, Charlie whipped around and went to protect Bucky. “Natasha Romanoff. Call me Natasha.”

“Steve,” he replied, and stuck out his hand for a shake.

“Captain,” she replied with a nice smile. “I’m a spy for SHIELD. I specialize in undercover work.”

“Seems to me we’ll be great friends then. From one spy to another.”

“I’ve no doubt. Now, do you want me to show you where some shops are?”

“Sure I do. Buck? You wanna come, or…?”

Bucky picked himself off the floor, lightly pushing Charlie out of the way and patting the dog’s head. “You’re new spy friend scares the shit outta me, I don’t wanna go. I don’t even like smoking.”

“Why do you need tobacco anyway?” Natasha asked. “Rolling your own cigarettes?”

“For my pipe, actually.”

“Wow, you are old fashioned.”

“Yeah, yeah, young whippersnapper and all that. Does it change your opinion if I tell you I stole it?”

“I’m more impressed now, I suppose.”

“That’s all I need.”

 

* * *

 

 

_ An hour later: _

“You know, back in the day we just smoked whatever we could get our hands on. I dunno what the fuck I want anymore. Plus, I don’t even smoke that much.”

“Try some flavored tobacco and if you don’t like it, don’t smoke it,” Natasha said, and hands him a few flavors. Black Cherry, Apricot, Chocolate, and one unflavored.

“Seems a shame to waste,” Steve protested.

“If you don’t use it, I’ll take it and use it for a mission. Better?”

Steve considered. “Alright. I’ll bite.”

So Steve got to smoke again, but only in designated smoking areas. He’s glad they exist, of course, they would have been a welcome change back when he had asthma, but sometimes they’re a little tricky to find and of course he’s the only one with a pipe. His guilty pleasure now makes him stick out like a sore thumb, which sucks for a spy.

Ah, well. He’s got a little less to be stressed about now a days. Most of the time just putting it between his lips helped.


	17. Duende

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Duende: the mysterious power of art to deeply move a person.

Steve and Bucky got clearance to go out on their own pretty soon after. 

At first they didn’t go to places they hadn’t before, just stuck to the mall. They could sample foods there, looks around, buy books, and try to figure out what the hell they missed.

One day they decided to buy a drink from a place called Boba Tea, sitting on the fabric benches in silence. Steve leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees, looking at the plastic cup full of pink liquid, beads of condensations forming on the side. He stared for a minute and then says, “I have no goddamn idea what this is but I’m so fucking grateful it’s here.”

Because suddenly it’s hit him that if they hadn’t won the war, it wouldn’t be. Skull would have destroyed this part of the country and the fallout would have wiped out more than that. Hitler certainly would have won with that and Europe would reflect his Aryan perfection... if Schmitt had allowed him to live, of course.

And Schmitt had been just as bad as Hitler, so Steve would bet his life that Schmitt was a white supremacist too. He might have killed entire races, destroyed entire cultures, only to leave those handful of survivors, likely Hydra, and conquer the planet.

“We built this. Our deaths allowed this to happen. Our deaths allowed people to be free, to create to spread to...” Steve lost track of his words and went silent.

Charlie whined and put his head on Steve’s lap as Bucky wrapped an arm around Steve and pulled him in.

“Yeah. I know that feeling,” Bucky said. “And now we’re the ones displaced, seeing what our legacy was without dying.”

Steve sniffed and wiped off his face with his sleeve.

“It’s beautiful, and we’re sitting in a mall with bubble tea,” Steve said with a choked laugh. “Everybody knows of us and nobody knows us. We’re history's toys.”

Bucky nodded. “But we’ll be fine. We’re gonna be fine.”

They continued to explore and started branching out. They were both given new identities to ease the problems waking up in a new century created . Bucky got two, one that was true, and another that said he was born in 1985.

Steve got six of them. One was completely true, and five were totally fake. He had one like Bucky’s though, but he knew he wouldn't use it. He spent a lot of time wandering around stores, usually just people watching.   But he also found himself attracted to the odd store too. For example he found an art store and came home with enough supplies to fill an office because he had the time to make art for the first time since he graduated from high school.

He also bought stacks of graphic novels and read those in his spare time, enjoying Watchmen the most of all of them. He had mixed opinions about the characters, but he liked Rorschach's uncompromising moral standards and the soldiers perspective of the Comedian. Adrian was a genius, but his solution to fixing World War Three too close to Skulls for comfort. 

Steve also found historical graphic novels and was suddenly struck with an idea that made his fingers twitch and that excitement to create burrow in his chest.

He was going to  _ draw _ his autobiography.

 

* * *

 

 

Steve spent a lot of time with Bucky, watching movies and cuddling and reading. It was easier to do that, some days, just sit and read or plan out his graphic novel, not thinking about what was missing or what happened. It was easier to be in the time frame when carefully sketching out frames and people he knew.

But at night he went to the fanciest, fake-smile filled high rise bars he could get into. Those places were full of people who fought with words and smiles rather than fists. Steve figured out how to do that too, but that one definitely took a while. He was better at fighting with fists that barbed words.

He came home feeling cheated sometimes. He didn’t like it. The fancy alcohol wasn’t worth it, but at least he knew how to blend in.

When he felt he could blend in the high rise bars, he went to local breweries where people talked and laughed and sampled beers because they sounded good. Where mothers sat babies on their laps as they talked about methods of breast feeding and neat toys and books they recommend. Where guys got together to complain about work and plan for the future.

Steve liked those better, actually, and he liked sitting at the bar so he could talk with the bartender about funny things that had happened there. Bucky and Charlie often accompanied him, the large dog sitting peacefully under the table, happily looking around as Bucky and Steve drank and ate soft pretzels dipped in mustard.

“Can remember the last time I had something this good,” Bucky commented, dipping his piece in melted cheese and popping it in his mouth.

“Dunno about that,” Steve said with a grin. “Remember France?”

Bucky looked vaguely panicked and pissed. “Oh, god, do I ever, you little shit. Almost made me piss my pants, Steve. I can’t believe you threw a brick at the Nazi and stole his loaf of bread!”

Steve bust out laughing.

“And then you stuffed him in a trashcan!”

Steve tried to muffle his laughter with his hand, but his shoulders were shaking with the effort.

“Never saw what hit him, but the bread was fresh and hot.” Charlie wagged his tail and licked Bucky’s hand.

The server appeared. “Any of you want refills, gentlemen?”

Often Bucky started chatting with the bartender about brewing beer, asking questions about how it worked. The bartender answered what they could, but eventually referred Bucky to online sources. Bucky wrote the website down and when they went home, Steve lay over Bucky’s legs to draw and Bucky placed his computer on Steve's back.

After a while, Steve started going to the shiftiest, most scum infested filthy bars he could find to get a feeling for what the criminal scene was like. He got into bar fights and drank bad tasting alcohol that could only be called swill.

The men and women there spat terrible insults, fought, and occasionally tried to kill each other, but the bouncers usually interfered before anything could happen. Usually.

He learned to act like one of them, sneer in people's faces when he beat them up. He learned to talk trash and smash bottles over people’s heads when they threw a punch just because they didn’t like the way he looked. More than once Steve came home a with a split lip, healing black eye, and blood on his shirt. Bucky was always upset with him, but he just cuddled with Steve as they watched a movie, Charlie laying on their legs and relaxing along side them.

Steve learned to guzzle drinks in competitions, downing burning shot after burning shot, whooping and hollering with the rest of them when he out-drank the larger man and shoved the filthy bills into his pockets from bets.

He was fairly certain he had been roofied twice, but the drugs didn’t affect him because of the serum.

He actually liked those places. The danger excited him.

During the day was blending in average settings. Target, Walmart, stores, and the general public. Blending there was actually easier. People tended not to ask questions, and as long as he hid his amazement at prices and new products, he was fine. Bucky accompanied him to those and they had a lot of fun making fun of some of the things they found or impulse buying others. It was so damn nice to be able to hold hands in public.

But he still was working on those damn criminal ridden bars. He didn’t quite blend in yet. He was missing something, but he was pretty sure he knew what it was. He didn’t humiliate anyone, he just beat them up and left. There wasn’t any showmanship. When other people started fights there was finesse, it got big, people joined. With Steve, it was punch, punch, thud, slam back his drink and leave. Everybody was too surprised to join or make any fuss.

So he was gonna get it messy and dramatic and see how that worked out.

Unfortunately, just as he got the man who swung the first punch in a headlock and started pouring his own bottle of beer on his head, Director Fury walked in looking severely unimpressed. He stood out the most, in his crisp black cloak and professional demeanor.

Steve stared dumbly until the drink ran out. Coming back to himself, he smashed the glass against the guy’s head and slammed his head into the countertop.

“Though you had better taste than this,” Fury called over the fighting.

There were four or so other people shouting and brawling, so Steve grabbed one by the arm and threw him into the other three, easily stopping the fight when they crashed to the floor.

“Sir,” Steve said, walking over to explain. People looked over and eyed Fury uneasily.

“Save it, what you do on your own time is your business, but now I need you to come in. Let’s talk outside before your friends over there start causing trouble again.”

Steve followed Fury outside, wiping beer off his arms and straightening his shirt. “You’re giving me a mission?”

“I am.”

“What for?”

“Saving the world.” Fury handed Steve a file and Steve wiped his hands off before taking it and opening it. The cube stared back at him and Steve blew out a breath.

“Hydra’s secret weapon,” he said, feeling pissy now. “Are you  _ fucking kidding me _ ?”

Fury blinked at him for a second, then go ahold of himself. “Howard Stark fished that out of the ocean when he was looking for you. He thought, well, we think, the Tesseract could be the key to unlimited sustainable energy. That's something the world sorely needs.”

“How about that,” Steve said dryly, almost looking at the darkened Stark Tower in the distance. He was old, not dead. “Who took it from ya?” Steve asked.

“He's called Loki. He's... not from around here. There's a lot we'll have to bring you up to speed on if you're in. The world has gotten even stranger than you already know.”

Steve shook his head. “Sounds likea load of blushit. Nothin' would surprise me now.”

Fury’s lips twitched. “Ten bucks says you're wrong. There's a debriefing package in the car, but we were hoping you could deliver a briefing packet to Tony Stark before we go back to base.”

Steve looks up at the skyline and pointed to the tower in the distance.

“That’s where he’ll be,” Fury confirmed. “He doesn’t like SHIELD that much, so he doesn’t let us in. Sure, we could try hacking his AI, but I figured you might enjoy the exercise. I can drop you off and I’ve got your uniform in the car. Won’t change the fact that you smell like a bar, but it’ll do.”

Steve handed back the file. “I’m takin’ my bike, but I’ll get my stuff.”

“Is there anything you can tell us about the Tesseract that we ought to know now?”

Steve scoffed before looking back to Fury. “Condiderin’ the pattern of people using it for more bad than good, I think even you can come to the conclusion that you shoulda left it in the ocean.”


	18. Espial

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Espial: The act of spying.

Getting through Stark Tower was easy. Nothing had any power, so it was easy to slip through by being quiet and on the lookout. The only rough spot he came across was when the power came on suddenly and Steve had to dive for a ceiling vent in order to avoid the cameras. From there it was just a silent trip up.

His new uniform was a lot like his last except the material of his uniform was more protective. The tower was truly impressive. The outside wasn’t all that great, but the use of space and neat sharp edges of the inside was truly futuristic. And the building was supposed to run on clean energy, which was swell. He had read the packet through during the brief car ride. Sure, he skipped the personality profiles, but he did read what the individuals were capable of and their skill sets. 

The report of Loki stealing the cube worried him, but he felt he knew what to expect from a guy like that. He was similar to Skull actually. Showy, flashy. Steve beat him too by being stealthy, quiet. He just had to sneak up behind him when he was making a villain monologue.

It took three minutes for Steve reached the penthouse.

Pepper Potts, the CEO of Stark industries was below him. “Levels are holding steady... I think.”

“Of course they are,” Tony Stark boasted, walking into the room. “I was directly involved. Which brings me to my next question: how does it feel to be a genius?”

Potts turned. “Well, ha, I really wouldn't know now, would I?”

“What do you mean? All this came from you.” He gestured around. A charmer, that one. Another flashy guy. Steve rolled his eyes and then brought his attention back to what was happening below him.

Potts shook her head and tapped his chest. “No. All this came from that.”

“Give yourself some credit, please. Stark Tower is your baby. Give yourself... twelve percent of the credit.”

Steve winced on behalf of Stark and facepalmed as quietly as he could. He was getting second hand embarrassment from this.

“Twelve percent?” She said, unimpressed, like she should be.

“An argument can be made for fifteen,” Stark added quickly.

“Twelve percent? Of my baby?” She asked as she walked over to a seating area.

Stark tried to argue for himself when she shot down the olive branch. “Well, I did do all the heavy lifting. Literally, I lifted the heavy things. And sorry, but the security snafu? That was on you.”

Potts rolled her eyes as she grabbed a bottle of champagne out of an ice bucket.  **“** Oooooh.”

“My private elevator…” Stark says.

“You mean our elevator?” Steve moved the vent cover and shifted so his legs went first.

**“** ...was teeming with sweaty workmen. I'm going to pay for that comment about percentages in some subtle way later, aren't I?” He sat next to her.

Steve dropped down light on his toes. Quiet enough that neither of them notice. “Mr. Stark,” Steve started, watching as both whirl to look at him in surprise.

“Security breach,” Stark said loudly, and now that Steve is face to face with him he realizes how similar Stark looks to Howard. Not a copy, exactly, his skin is a shade or two darker he’s shorter, a little stocky, muscular, but the hair, face structure, both alike. It still makes Steve need to shake his head to clear it.

Potts turned to Stark. “That's on you. Now we’re even. Fifty percent. You owe me a dress.”

“I’m with SHIELD,” Steve explained. “They wanted me to give you this.” Steve took off his bag and unzipped it, holding out the debrief packet.

“I don’t like being handed things,” Stark said, and Steve couldn’t tell if he was just evading or if that was an actual thing for him so he offered it to Ms. Potts, who took it and then traded with Tony, stealing his glass. Stark stared at the floor for a second, rebooting, and then turned to Steve. “Official consulting hours are between eight and five every other Thursday.”

“Oh, so you’re a smart ass,” Steve said crossing his arms. “Get your ass up and look at the damn packet.”

Potts perked up. “Is this about the Avengers? Which I… I know nothing about.”

Stark stood up and went over to the big monitor thing with holograms, passing Steve. “The Avengers Initiative was scrapped, I thought. And I didn't even qualify.”

“Why’s that?” Steve asked idly.

“Apparently I'm volatile? Self-obsessed? Don't play well with others?”

Steve considered and then shrugged. “Nobody’s perfect. Not even you, hot shot.”

“You’re spicy! I like you,” Stark said. He finally plugged in the device and Potts crept up behind him. “What’s all this?”

“This is, uh, this.” Stark flicked up images and recordings, and the pair looked from hologram to hologram. Steve saw his file still had black in it, even in electronic form. In fact, it was only filled out a little more than what Fury showed him when he woke up. It only showed his title and skill set. One picture, no recordings.

“What’s that one?” Potts asked, pointing to Steve’s. 

“That’s, um…” Stark drew it forward and looked at the image, then back at Steve. “Him. You’re… nobody. Technically.”

Steve shrugged. “I feel pretty real to me. SHIELD’s supplied me with six identities, and only one is mostly true.”

Stark read his file again. “The Captain? Like the guy my dad never shut up about?”

Steve frowned. “He did?”

“Yep, It was always, the Captain this, the Captain that, Cap would be disappointed and that crap.” Stark rolled his eyes and waved his hand.

“Sorry to hear,” Steve said honestly. He didn’t like thinking about Howard holding that over his kids head. It sounded like a recipe for disaster. Besides that, Steve wasn’t any role model to take after, so it was just strange to hear.

Potts looked at the files and sighed. “I'm going to take the jet to D.C. tonight.”

“Tomorrow,” Stark said automatically.

“You've got homework. A lot of homework.”

Stark foundered again, coming up with, “Well, what if I didn't?”

“If you didn't?”

“Yeah.”

“You mean if you finished?” Potts clarified, and when Stark nodded, she leaned in. “Well, um...then…” She whispered something in his ear and Steve looked away. Okay, fantastic. He had enhanced hearing and didn’t want to hear this.

“Square deal,” Stark said.

Potts smiled and turned to Steve. “ So, any chance you're driving by LaGuardia?”

“‘Fraid not, but I can drop ya there if you have a motorcycle helmet,” Steve offered. He’s supposed to get on a transport at the SHIELD base to a ship in three hours, but it isn't that bad of a detour.

“Uh, no getting on strange motorcycles with strange men?” Stark suggested.

“Do I needta provide ID and have her home by midnight, sir?” Steve said dryly.

“ID might be helpful.”

Steve shoved his hand in his pocket and grabbed his SHIELD ID, showing the badge there. “Better?”

“Sure. Also, don’t mack on my girlfriend.”

“I’ve got a boyfriend, I don’t wanna mack on yer gal,” Steve retorted as he backed into the elevator with Miss Potts.

“Good.” The elevator shut.

“I just need to change and grab my bag, you don’t mind, do you?” Potts asked.

“Not at all, ma’am. Want me to wait by the elevator?” Steve offered.

“You can wait in the kitchen, if you’d like, get yourself something to drink.” She sniffed the air. “What smells like bad beer?”

 

* * *

 

Bucky had already packed a bag of things for the two of them by the time Steve got back to the apartment. “Did you see?” Steve asked.

“Yeah. The asshats had the fuckin’ Tesseract .”

“Fuckin’ idiots,” Steve agreed.

Bucky nodded tightly. “I know. I just- I thought we were done with this whole thing. The cube. How the hell did we skip the years where we didn’t have to think about it?” Charlie walked over and leaned against Bucky, looking up at him. Bucky crouched and started petting Charlie, the tenseness in his shoulders relaxing a bit.

Steve sighed and shook his head. “Can’t say I know.”

Bucky waved him over and the two hugged for a minute, Charlie between them. “It’ll be okay. We’ll fight hard and fuck this guy up,” Steve encouraged. “Just like always.”

Bucky sighed and nodded, kissing the top of Steve’s head. “Fuck ‘em up, buttercup.”

Steve chuckled. “That rhymed.”

“I wasn’t rhyming for you, ya little shit.”

 

* * *

 

 

Steve and Bucky were both transported to the aircraft carrier on the Atlantic that served as SHIELD’s mobile base of operations. Bucky and Charlie managed well, though Bucky hated wearing the harness. Charlie, however, just sat between Bucky’s legs and kept him distracted. Natasha greeted them when they landed and Bucky and Steve took a minute to look around. Steve still didn’t like the ocean, he discovered. Too big, too blue. Endless in all the wrong ways.

“This water ever fuckin’ end?” Bucky asked.

“Not that I can see,” Steve replied. “But it’s an ocean, Buck. It’s big by definition.” Steve looked over and spotted Bruce Banner awkwardly moving around as people kept walking in his way. “Hey, Doc,” he called waving the man over to their spot.

Banner, relieved, strode over. “Captain,” he says respectfully, shaking Steve’s hand. “Nice to meet you.”

Steve smiled. “Same here. You’re hear to track the cube, right?”

Banner raised an eyebrow. “That’s what they tell me,” Banner said evasively.

“Good, the sooner this mess is done, the sooner we can all go home,” Steve said. Bucky stood behind Steve awkwardly, Charlie wagging his tail at everyone around him, but having eyes only for Bucky.

Natasha spoke up suddenly, catching the men’s attention. “Gentlemen, you may wanna step inside in a minute. It's gonna get a little hard to breath.”

Steve blinked as the ship started shaking and shuddering. “What, s’this a U-boat or something?”

Bucky frowned and walked over to the edge with Banner. Banner, for his part, seemed unphased by Steve’s phrasing of ‘submarine’. “Really? They wanted me in a submerged pressurized metal container?” 

No, apparently it was an airship. Great big turbines lifted them up slowly and soon the craft was starting to float through the sky. Steve rolled his eyes. Seriously? This was the flashiest shit he’s ever seen and he’s fought Johan Schmitt.

Banner chuckled humorlessly. “Oh, no. This is much worse.”

Steve grabbed Bucky’s hand and squeezed. “Wanna go inside?”

“Yeah. C’mon Charlie.”


	19. Soigné

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Soigné: Dressed very elegantly; well groomed.

The first thing Steve realized, with a lot of disdain, was how dramatic everyone was. Pointed phrases, exaggerated words, clean cut language. For spies, Fury and Natasha sure showboated a lot. They were speaking so loudly that it carried over the deck and anybody could overhear them.

And, well, Steve was impressed by the Helicarrier, so he had to fork over ten bucks to Fury like a schmuck. Steve and Bucky sat at the table for a while, chairs pointed towards each other and lavishing Charlie with attention as they talked while they waited for something to happen, an order, anything.

“We got a hit!” An agent announced suddenly, and Steve looked over. “Sixty-seven percent match. Wait, crossmatch, seventy- nine percent.”

Coulson stepped behind the agent, looking at the screen. “Location?”

“Stuttgart, Germany. 28, Konigstrasse. He's not exactly hiding.” 

Steve squeezed Bucky’s hand and walked over, peering over Coulson’s shoulder. On screen, Loki was dressed in a fine suit and scarf combination, looking round perfectly at ease. “He’s blending in. Looks like he’s going to whatever that thing is in disguise. If you give me a suit, I can handle this.”

Fury nodded. “You're up. Check in with undercover storage before you head out. If you really need one, I bet you can grab a suit there.”

Bucky slid along side him as Steve walked away. “Wanna little company?”

“Course I do,” Steve agreed.

 

* * *

 

 

Natasha dropped Steve off only a block from the gala, right on a rooftop. Steve finished tying his tie and adjusted his bag a bit. Bucky brushed off his shoulders with his prosthetic. “You look like a rich bastard,” he said.

“Feel like one too,” Steve grumbled, shoving a high powered taser into his bag.

Bucky smiled and leaned down to kiss him sweetly. “Fuck ‘em up, buttercup.”

“I’ll fuck you up if you give me a minute,” Steve retorted.

“Maybe later,” Bucky grinned and kissed Steve again. “Good luck.”

Steve jumped down to the rooftop and then dropped into the alley, already walking quickly towards the event only a street over. He easily entered, hearing the calm German ripple through the assembly as they tapped champagne glasses and laughed politely. Steve set himself back to that head space; fancy, classy, barbed grins when necessary. He was talking with a legitimately kind older woman when he spotted Loki coming down the stairs with purpose, big and bold in the way that rubbed Steve in the wrong way. He reminded Steve of that jailer that he stabbed in the neck.

He held such flourish, such regality, that Steve almost rolled his eyes. The asshole was even walking down the middle of the staircase like he already won the game. The music picked up, and with that, Loki struck a guard in the face with his transformed staff.

The crowd gasped as one and backed away from Loki. Loki stormed forward and grabbed the speaker by his neck, flipping him over the center piece and grabbing some device out of his long jacket. The crowd started backing away fearfully, taking Steve with it. 

He downed his champagne and continued after them. He wouldn’t be able to help the gentleman from this distance, not unless he wanted others hurt. The device didn’t look big enough to kill, but Loki certainly stabbed it down hard enough to make the crowd scream and start running away. Steve cursed and backed toward the door as well. Blend, observe, plan, strike.

Loki wasn’t done here, Steve could tell. Loki finished up and started striding toward the doors by the time Steve stepped over the threshold. Then the dramatic mother fucker teleported the the space next to him in full regalia and trapped him as well as a whole bunch of people in the area in front of the museum.

When Loki shouted at them to kneel, Steve did, shucking off his bag and subtly rustling through it.

Loki began a grand speech about slavery and humanity and natural places and eventually stopped his walking path right behind Steve, allowing him to throw on his goggles and helmet, grabbing his superpowered taser.

The woman next to him gasped softly and Steve caught her eye. (When I move, everybody runs. Tell everybody you can,) Steve muttered to her and she frantically nodded, scrambling to tell the people who surrounded her. It ripped through the crowd, unnoticed by Loki.

“...Not to men like you.”

Steve looked over. Ah, shit. Civilian. Steve shucked off his shirt top, now only in his suit pants. He was actually a little surprised no one noticed the boots.

“There are no men like me,” Loki says and Steve scoffs quietly. Sure, you dramatic motherfucker, keep telling yourself that.

“There are always men like you,” the veteran says as Steve put the taser in his right hand. His breath caught and he looked back as he suddenly realized who this man was, where he was from. The gentleman standing up to Loki was no different then Steve. They both knew World War II. They knew fascism and fear and subjugation. 

They knew what standing up to this kind of man meant.

Loki makes a dismissive, annoyed, gesture and points his scepter at the old man. “Look to your elder, people. Let him be an example.”

Steve looked back up at Loki and held the taser tight. He could only see black leather and gold from this angle, but he could hear the threat. He knew exactly what he needed to do. The energy weapon whirled in Loki’s hand and Steve moved, standing and grabbing Loki’s arm, pushing up. The blast launched into the sky, away from the people. In his other hand, he flicked on the taser and jammed it hard into Loki’s exposed neck. The crowd moved away as soon as did.

Steve had the upperhand. He was still electrocuting Loki, and Loki was jerking with the voltage, clearly resisting and losing. He couldn’t aim his staff at Steve because Steve’s arm was blocking the way. Loki finally collapsed to the the ground, twitching slightly.

Iron Man zoomed in without fanfare. “Well, I see you have this under control, Captain. Thought I could make a big entrance,” he said mournfully.

Loki groaned and tried to sit up, so Stark blasted him back down.

“There you go,” Steve said dryly, gesturing to Loki but looking at Stark. “You feel better?”

“Much, actually.”

“Oh good,” Steve said dryly. “I’m glad. Alright, you watch over him. I’ve gotta check on the police car and the man inside the museum, okay?”

“Square deal. SHIELD is swinging around, yeah?”

“There’s a jet a few minutes out,” Steve agreed, finally taking off the suit pants. It was tricky to get them over his boots, but the suit was a little big on him anyway. He grabbed his bag, handing the taser to Stark, and then jogged over the the overturned car, crouching and looking through the shattered window.

< _Are you men okay?_ >

The both looked over, looking a little worse for wear, but otherwise alright. < _We are stuck_ > one said simply. < _The seat belts are jammed and we cannot open the doors._ >

Steve nodded. < _But no injuries?_ >

< _None that need immediate attention._ >

Steve nodded. < _Hold on. I am righting the car. I will get you out._ >

Steve looked over the vehicle and then just grabbed the side, lifting it so it stood up on it’s side. He then rounded the car and pulled down on the other side, letting the car drop softly instead of shaking the occupants. Seeing the men started but still alright, he tried the door handle, not surprised to find it still jammed. 

Steve yanked the door off and dropped it, leaning inside to snap the belt buckles of the police officers.

< _Better, yes? >_

< _Thank you!_ > they said. < _How did you do that?_ >

< _You stay here, there is another I need to check on,_ > Steve advised and ran off towards the museum entrance again.

The injured man was still lying across the centerpiece, either unconscious or dazed. Half of his face looked like cut up meat and Steve doubted his eye was salvageable after that, but he appeared to be breathing. Steve grabbed his first aid kit out of his bag and set to work. By the time the ambulance came in to take over, Steve had more or less just wrapped a bandage around the man's head to stop the bleeding and handed him over to the professionals. 

The courtyard was filled with officers, but they let Steve get back over to the jet.

Bucky greeted him with a smile and Charlie wagged his tail. “There’s my spy,” Bucky said.

Steve chuckled and rolled his eyes, kissing the side of Bucky’s head, near his eye. “All set here,” Steve said. “Let’s move.”


	20. Impetuous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Impetuous: Acting or done quickly and without thought or care.

“Has he said anything?” Steve heard Fury ask over the radio.

“Not a word,” Natasha replied.

“Just get him here. We're low on time.”

Loki was tied up and cuffed to his seat, still a little woozy. He kept shaking his head to clear it, squinting at the lights. 

Bucky and Steve sat close together opposite Loki, whispering to each other. “Feel good to taze him?” Bucky asked, grinning and scratching at Charlie’s ears.

“You’ve no idea. Fuckin’ drama queens.” Steve bumped shoulders with Bucky. He quieted. “But really, I expected more fight back.”

Bucky looked interested. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, I dunno. It’s just a feeling.”

“Your feelings ain’t let us down yet,” Bucky pointed out.

Steve nodded and eyed the groggy prisoner. “We’ll just keep an eye on him then, yeah?”

“Course.”

“Nice dog,” Stark said.

“He’s a very nice dog,” Bucky agreed, playing with Charlie’s floppy ears.

Charlie didn’t seem to mind. Charlie didn’t mind much of anything, actually. He was a very good dog, after all. He did mind the lightning, but only enough to look at the flashing window and ‘boof’. Charlie did not like the sudden bang and shudder of the jet, but again, he remained calm, putting himself between Bucky’s knees. That, of course, kept Bucky calm, but Steve was spitting fury by the time Stark jumped out of the back of the jet after the enormous blonde man.

“Fucking idiots! This is all so damn theatrical! I feel like I’m in a goddamn movie!” Steve strapped the parachute on.

“Maybe that’s a bad idea,” Bucky said warningly. Steve dropped a kiss to the top of Bucky’s head and patted Charlie. “Don’t you kiss and ignore me!” Bucky squaked.

“What’s that? I can’t hear you over the wind!” Steve said as he walked backward off the edge of the ship, spinning through the clouds neatly as he approached the ground. He could already see Stark and the Asgardian fighting, bright blue blasts and sparking lightning.

He deployed his parachute and landed softly, ditching his cargo and reforming his shield. As soon as he was in range, he bounced the shield between their heads and caught it again.

“Hey, jackasses!” Steve shouted. “Knock it off!”

Steve walked out of the shadows and strapped the shield to his back. “You’re fighting like drunks in a back alley! Put your energy towards something fucking useful!”

“I've come here to put an end to Loki's schemes!” the Asgardian announced.

Steve gestured around widely. “So has everybody standing in this goddamn forest. Now cut the bullshit and get Loki back on the jet before I leave you all here to have your goddamn dick measuring contest!”

 

* * *

 

 

Steve felt like smacking his head against the wall. Drama. Drama. Drama. Fury was one of the most dramatic goddamn men he’d ever met. Steve tapped his head against the table anyway. He needed a smoke. These people were the worst spies.

Bucky rubbed his back sympathetically and Charlie licked his hand. “I think the problem is that they’re not doing any spying,” Bucky advised.

“Y’think?” Steve asked, turning his head.

“Yeah, this is… superhero-vigilante stuff. Ain’t no spyin’ anywhere.”

Steve thought on that. “Yeah, that sounds right. I’m outta my territory here then.”

“Nah, you’re a natural leader. Just there isn’t anything to lead yet. No focus.” Steve turned back to the conversation, nodding.

“He really grows on you, doesn't he?” Banner asked humorlessly, meaning Loki.

Steve sat up. “Loki's a dead end. We aren’t gonna get anything outta him. Thor, you know what his plan is?”

“He has an army called the Chitauri. They're not of Asgard or any world known. He means to lead them against your people. They will win him the earth. In return, I suspect, for the Tesseract,” Thor responded, musing.

Steve looked at Bucky in exhaustion. “An army. From outer space.” Bucky smiled at him, clearly amused. ( _I almost miss Nazis_ ) Steve said in French and Bucky started laughing into his fist. ( _Almost. Not quite, but almost. These people are making me crazy. This situation is improbable, and I am very tired already.)_

_(This team is very white,)_ Bucky observed in his thick American accent, enjoying the brief break for shit-talking. _(This is throwing me off.)_

_(No diversity!)_ Steve agreed. _(What, can they not find an equally qualified superhero? What about War Machine? He is army! Very qualified!)_

Banner spoke over their French. “So he's building another portal. That's what he needs Erik Selvig for.”

Thor looked over, recognizing the name. “Selvig?”

“He's an astrophysicist,” Banner elaborated.

“He's a friend.”

Natasha spoke up. “Loki has him under some kind of spell, along with one of ours.”

“Spells,” Steve grumbled, and Charlie put his head on Steve's knee. “Alright, I got the drop on Loki, but if he wasn’t planned on getting taken, he would have just fucked off after his attack. He's not leading an army from here.”

“I don't think we should be focusing on Loki. That guy's brain is a bag full of cats, you could smell crazy on him,” Banner said flippantly.

“Have care how you speak. Loki is beyond reason, but he is of Asgard, and he's my brother,” Thor announced.

Steve looked over. “He’s killed almost eighty people in two days.” They’ll speak how they like, considering that fact.

Thor stood awkwardly, thinking of an excuse. “He's adopted.”

Steve hit his head on the table and made a noise. Bucky patted his back again. _(What is this?)_

“Iridium, what did they need the Iridium for?” Banner asked suddenly.

Stark walked in like he owned the place. “It's a stabilizing agent.” He muttered something to Coulson and turned back to the group. “Means the portal won't collapse on itself, like it did at SHIELD.” Stark tapped Thor’s bicep. “No hard feelings, Point Break. You've got a mean swing. Also, it means the portal can open as wide, and stay open as long, as Loki wants.”

Stark said something about pirate ships and the pointed out a man playing a video game. Easily distracted, Steve noted, but still focused, which was an interesting combo. But, of course, Steve was used to spotting subtle things and he recognized that Stark was covering for something. He watched as Stark touched the bottom of the monitor for a little longer than strictly necessary.

What was he doing?

“-Well, that sounds exhausting. The rest of the raw materials, Agent Barton can get his hands on pretty easily. Only major component he still needs is a power source. A high energy density, something to kick start the cube,” Stark continued.

Hill looked almost impressed. “When did you become an expert in thermonuclear astrophysics?” Good question actually, now that Steve was thinking about it. 

“Last night. The packet, Selvig's notes, the Extraction Theory papers? Am I the only one who did the reading?”

“I was too busy driving your girlfriend to the airport,” Steve snarked, but was still marveling over the fact that Stark learned all that in one night. “So, does Loki need any particular kind of power source?”

“He's got to heat the cube to a hundred and twenty million Kelvin just to break through the Coulomb barrier,” Banner said and as helpful as that had to be, it went right over Steve’s head.

“Unless, Selvig has figured out how to stabilize the quantum tunneling effect,” Stark countered.

“Well, if he could do that he could achieve Heavy Ion Fusion at any reactor on the planet.”

“Finally,” Stark gestures to Banner. “Someone who speaks English.”

Bucky and Steve said, “Is that what just happened?” at the same time and Charlie woofed softly, catching their attention.

“It's good to meet you, Dr. Banner. Your work on anti-electron collisions is unparalleled. And I'm a huge fan of the way you lose control and turn into an enormous green rage monster.”

A pause. Steve scrubbed at his face. 

“Thanks.”

Fury walked in with a flash of leather and narrowed his gaze at Stark. “Dr. Banner is only here to track the cube. I was hoping you might join him.”

“I’d take a look at that staff of his. It works th’ same as a Hydra weapon, so it’s probably connected t’the cube,” Steve advised.

Fury nodded in agreement. “I'd also like to know how Loki used it to turn two of the sharpest men I know into his personal flying monkeys.”

Steve almost grinned. Fury saying that just about implies that he recently saw the movie. Nobody referenced The Wizard of Oz anymore, but people do talk about things they’ve seen recently. The idea that Director Fury watched it was humorous at best.

Thor looked confused. “Monkeys? I do not understand.”

“It’s a reference to a movie,” Bucky explained.

Stark looked away from the group to Banner. “Shall we play, doctor?”

“Let's play some.”


	21. Taarradhin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taarradhin: A compromise where everyone wins.

After a while of sitting, Bucky and Charlie decided to go off and raid the break room, so Steve went to check up on the scientists, having nothing better to do. He walked in as the two scientists talked and worked.

“--promise a stress free environment. No tension. No surprises.” Stark jabbed Banner in the side with a tiny electrical instrument.

“Ow!” Banner exclaimed, sounding more surprised than hurt.

Stark looked at Banner closely. “Nothing?”

“Are you fuckin’ nuts?” Steve asked incredulously, his heart pounding.

Stark ignored him. “You really have got a lid on it, haven't you? What's your secret? Mellow jazz? Bongo drums? Huge bag of weed?”

“Are you fuckin’ serious?” Steve asked. “Jesus Christ, Stark, you about stopped my damn heart!” Steve put his hand over his face and took a breath. “Can I talk to Doctor Banner for a minute? In private?”

Stark shrugged and walked over to the other side of the room, flicking at his holograms. Steve turned to Banner. “You alright?”

“Yeah- Yeah, I’m fine. Why?”

“Because if Stark takes something too far, I want you to tell me of him,” Steve says. “I don’t like bullies.”

Banner blinked. “Sure. Okay. It’s- refreshing, actually. Not being treated like glass.”

“I know that feeling,” Steve agreed. “But still. Sometimes people like pushing. If you’ve got it under control, I trust you, but don’t be afraid to speak up, right?”

“Sure. Thanks.”

“Good man.”

Steve nodded and waved for Stark to come back over. “So,” Steve started. “How’s your hack going?” Stark instantly looked guilty and Steve crossed his arms waiting for an explanation.

“Okay, so you got me,” Stark admitted, hands raised.

“We’ll get nowhere if you don’t focus on the damn problem,” Steve said disapprovingly.

“You think I'm not? Why did Fury call us in, and why now? Why not before? What isn't he telling us? I can't do the equation unless I have all the variables.” Stark shrugged and ate a handful of blueberries. Where he got them was beyond Steve.

“So your hack is focusing on the problem?” Steve clarified. “You think Fury's hiding something?”

“He's a spy. Captain, he's  _ The Spy _ . His secrets have secrets. Hell, you’re predecessor’s secrets had secrets. You probably have secrets that have secrets.” Stark pointed to Banner. “It's bugging him too, isn't it?”

Banner floundered. “Uh...I just wanna finish my work here and…”

“Doc?”

Banner hesitated for a second. “ 'A warm light for all mankind, ’ Loki's jab at Fury about the cube.”

“Yeah, what about it?”

Banner looked at Stark. “Well, I think that was meant for you. Even if Barton didn't say anything, it’s been all over the news.”

Steve caught on quickly, eyes widening in realization. “Stark Tower? Nice place, and it runs on the, uh,” Steve made a hand gesture.

“Arc reactor, self- sustaining energy source. That building will run itself for what, a year?” Banner asked Stark.

Tony positively fluffed up with pride. “That's just the prototype. I'm kind of the only name in clean energy right now.”

“That I did know,” Steve allowed, mind whirling.

Banner elaborated. “So, why didn't SHIELD bring him in on the Tesseract project? I mean, what are they doing in the energy business in the first place?”

Steve nodded. It was suspicious. He’d always trusted the techs and engineers back during the war because they were smarter than he’d ever be, and he’d be damned if Banner and Stark didn’t make a whole lot of sense right now.

“Shit,” Steve cussed. “Keep an eye on my bag,” he said, taking it off and kicking it under the table. He strapped his folded shield to his back. “If Bucky comes around, tell him where I went.”

“Uh, where are you going?” Stark asked.

Steve pointed at the air vent above them. “There. But I think you’re missing the point of the Irish Exit.”

 

* * *

 

 

Motherfucker.

Steve stared at the contents of the box, glaring at the silver weapons he saw in them. Hydra weapons. The same Hydra weapon that popped the train like a coke can and nearly killed Bucky. Anger burned in his fists and heart, making him shake with rage.

Steve punched the wall hard enough to bend the metal. Taking a breath, he pulled his hand out of the wall and put his pipe between his lips, grabbing the silver gun.

He didn’t want or need to be subtle about this.

* * *

 

 

Fury was in the lab along with Bucky, Banner, Stark when Steve stormed back in. “You're supposed to be locating the Tesseract,” Fury said to the pair of scientists, whining like a child.

“We are,” Banner replied, pointing to the screens floating around. “The model's locked and we're sweeping for the signature now. When we get a hit, we'll have the location within half a mile.”

“And you'll get your cube back, no muss, no fuss.” Stark looked at his hologram, which was now clearly displaying weapons files. “What is PHASE 2?”

Steve hefted up the gun, and Bucky's eyes widen at the sight of it. Charlie whined, getting Bucky’s attention. “PHASE 2 is SHIELD uses the cube to make weapons,” Steve accused, pissed.

The way Fury hastened to explain was laughable. “Captain, we gathered everything related to the Tesseract. This does not mean that we're…”

Steve broke the gun in his hands by twisting it past its stress point, cutting Fury off. A few people jumped, Fury included, as the pieces fell from Steve's hands. Charlie presses against Bucky’s leg and licks his hand. Bucky looked pleased at the destruction though, not bothered at all.

Stark flipped his screen, showing more blueprints for weapons based on the Tesseract's energy. “I'm sorry, Nick. What, were you lying?” These weapons were some that Steve didn’t recognize, ones that had been designed recently. 

Steve slid up next to Bucky, turning back to the chaos just as Thor and Natasha walk into the lab. Banner looked at her, eyes narrowed with frustration. “Did you know about this?” He pointed to the blueprints.

“You wanna think about removing yourself from this environment, doctor?” she asks calmly, evaded his question, eyes flicking around.

“I was in Calcutta, I was pretty well removed,” he laughed humorlessly.

“Loki's manipulating you.”

“And you've been doing... what exactly?” He tilted his head.

“You didn't come here because I bat my eyelashes at you,” she accused.

“Yes, and I'm not leaving because suddenly you get a little twitchy. I'd like to know why SHIELD is using the Tesseract to build weapons of mass destruction!”

Fury, giving up at this point, pointed. “Because of him.”

Thor looked stunned, checking around himself before pointing to  his own chest. “Me?”

Fury continued. “Last year earth had a visitor from another planet who had a grudge match that leveled a small town. We learned that not only are we not alone, but we are hopelessly, hilariously, outgunned.”

Steve had read the report. As much as he understood, it didn’t excuse this. There was no need for these weapons.

“My people want nothing but peace with your planet,” Thor claimed.

“But you're not the only people out there, are you?” Fury challenged. “And, you're not the only threat. The world's filling up with people who can't be matched, they can't be controlled.”

“This is outta the ballpark of control. This is panicked bureaucrats scrambling for a bigger stick when they don’t need it,” Steve argued.

“You’re biased,” Fury snapped.

“You're work with the Tesseract is what drew Loki to it, and his allies. It is the signal to all the realms that the earth is ready for a higher form of war,” Thor explained widely.

“A higher form?” Steve says, jerking back and just thinking of what shit he went through. Sleeping in the mud, all the death, all the destruction. The horrible days and endless frigid nights. He can’t help but think of the concentration camps. The shitty guns that always jammed, especially in the cold. The blood. The hunger gnawing at his stomach and the stomachs of his men. Of villains similar to Skull. The desperation of the people who saw the war first hand.

War prisoners. The Jews trapped in death camps, starving to death and looking like skeletons. Bucky.

“Nuclear deterrent. `Cause that always calms everything right down,” Stark was saying.

“Remind me again how you made your fortune, Stark?” Fury questioned.

“At least he wasn’t building nukes!” Steve spat. “You don’t know what these weapons can do, I know  _ exactly _ what they’re capable of!”

Thor scoffed. “I thought humans were more evolved than this.”

“Oh yeah, you’re on earth for all of three days and you’re an expert.” “Excuse me, did we come to your planet and blow stuff up?” Steve and Fury said at the same time.

Everybody started yelling out and arguing all at once. Thor was defending himself, Fury and Natasha were defending the weapons, and Banner, Stark, Steve, and Bucky were arguing against the necessity of the WMDs. All the anger in the room started festering and boiling over liek a pot of water.

“You speak of control, yet you court chaos,” Thor said, like he was so much better than them.

“It's his M.O., isn't it? I mean, what are we, a team? No, no, no. We're a chemical mixture that makes chaos. We're... we're a time-bomb,” Banner said, matter of fact.

And as much as Steve hated to admit it, that hit the nail on the head. With the conflicts of interest between SHIELD and the others, there was no singular cause to fight for just yet. Sure, they might be able to act as two separate teams with Thor as some extra backup, but that wasn’t exactly helpful or efficient.

“You need to step away,” Fury said to Banner.

Steve was about to say something about Fury not getting to make that decision when he looked over at the flashing blue scepter. It wasn’t doing that before.

He patted Stark’s shoulder dumbly and pointed.

Stark looked annoyed but then did so, pausing. “It wasn’t doing that before.”

And, of course, that was exactly the dramatic moment the world was waiting on, because the floor blew from under them.


	22. Resfeber

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Resfeber: The restless race of the traveler's heart before the journey begins, when anxiety and anticipation are tangled together, a 'travel fever' that can manifest as an illness.

Steve, if he considered the question carefully, would consider himself pretty well-rounded. He was a good spy, he was a decent soldier (sometimes) and he was good at blowing shit up and shooting people. Those skill sets mostly focused on warfare, but he was also wasn't a bad artist, a good depression-era cook, and was angry enough to protest just about any injustices with the rigor that might set fire to anybody else.

But, even with all of that, e was not good at science mumbo jumbo. He got good grades in science, but they weren't excellent and he only knew trajectory to the point he could say he was good at it, considering the shield and firing weapons.

So, when a burst of madness shook the Helicarrier and sent everyone scrambling for cover or to defend themselves, Steve wound up outside, the wind roaring in his ears as smoke billowed around him. He almost wanted to ask for a gas mask, but there wasn't any time.

He was stressed enough about the attack and worry about where Bucky was that when Stark started rambling words that Steve didn't know he hissed “Speak English!” into the comm. "Or German, or Italian, but say it clearly goddammit!"

Stark finally, _finally_ , explained what he needed and Steve jumped the gap, waiting for his cue and wondering where Bucky was in this mess. He remembered seeing Bucky and Charlie run off, but he hadn't a clue where.

After a few minutes, when Steve noticed the soldiers looking to cause trouble, he scoffed and shot each before they even noticed him, his Hydra built guns vaporizing them. The grenade was a bit of an eccentric touch, but it would have been effective if Steve hadn’t noticed it and swatted it out of the air.

Amateurs.

 

* * *

 

When Stark landed, safe and sound and scratch free, Steve was already moving down the hall, looking around for Bucky, worry clawing at his throat. “Bucky?!” he called out, cupping his hands over his mouth to make a microphone.

“Over here!” Bucky replied, sounding far off. Steve ran down the halls, jumping over broken walls and through shattered windows until he came to the hall just outside the control room. Bucky stood with a gun in hand, bruised and covered in soot or something. He had a little cut on his cheek but it looked like it had already healed over.

“Bucky,” Steve said, relieved. He immediately hugged the other man, rocking them side to side a bit. Tension drains out of him and he feels Bucky's constant, grounding muscle under his hands, hears Bucky's heartbeat under his ear.

“Steve, thank god,” Bucky mumbled, sighing. “I was worried.”

“Same here. Where’s Charlie?”

“I had him wait in a room so he didn’t get shot,” Bucky replied.

Steve drew back to look at him. “You look like hell," he said with a little grin.

Bucky licked his bloody lip and smiled back. “I feel like hell, but I’m alright. Nothin’ new. The attack’s over, so I’m gonna go get Charlie. Alright?”

“Course,” Steve agreed.

 

* * *

 

Steve stopped in the head of the ship when everything was done and lit his pipe, seeing everybody working at recovering from the attack. Fury looked at him in disdain, lips thinning.

“What? I certainly can’t make this any worse than this already is,” Steve scoffed, blowing out a stream of smoke.

Fury sighed and slumped, fiddling with something in his hand. “Coulson is down,” he said at last, making Steve look over again. “He’s… alive. For the moment. These were in his jacket.” Fury threw a few slips of paper, Howling Commando trading cards, on the table, They were flecked and stained with blood, still wet.

Ah, shit. Coulson. Steve's heart dropped into his boots as he stared.

“He and another agent went after Loki. We’re treating the second agent with third degree burns over his chest and Coulson with an impalement. We're dead in the air up here. Our communications, location of the cube, Banner, Thor. I got nothing for you.” Fury shrugged, swiping at his face. He sighed. “Yes, we were going to build an arsenal with the Tesseract. I never put all my chips on that number though, because I was playing something even riskier. The Avengers Initiative. The idea to bring together a group of remarkable people, see if they could become something more. See if they could work together when we needed them to, to fight the battles that we never could. Phil might die still believing in that idea, in heroes.”

Fury looked at Steve and Stark. “Or do I need to tell him otherwise?”

Steve blew out smoke and Stark got up, unable to hear anymore.

Low blow. Manipulative. And so damn honest.

“Shit,” Steve cussed softly, and went after Stark.

 

* * *

 

Stark was staring at the bloodstain on the wall when Steve found him. It really wasn't hard to locate the billionaire. He was such a large personality that Steve just knew where he had to have gone. He had this... presence that Steve couldn't muster up.

“Hey,” Steve said, and Stark jumped a few feet up.

“Jesus, how’d you get there so quietly?” Stark asked, looking spooked. Steve stared at him and then gestured empathetically to his entire getup. _I'm a spy_ , he tried to convey while incredulous at the question. Stark sighed and looked back to the blood stain. “He was an idiot.”

“Coulson? He was just doing his job.”

“By taking on Loki with barely any backup? They were out of their league. He should have waited. He should have…”

Steve put a hand on Stark’s shoulder. “Sometimes you lose soldiers in a war,” he said. He remembers seeing the aftermath of warfare, men stuck in the mud as Steve and his crew kept their heads low. All those men who died, gone before their hit the ground and making a feast for rats before they could be moved.

Stark whirled on him. “We are not soldiers!”

This snapped Steve out of it and he nodded a bit. “You're right,” Steve said. “We're not soldiers. You're a billionaire, I'm a spy, but this _is_  war, and wars have soldiers. I ain't marching to Fury's fife. He's got the same blood on his hands as Loki does. But the safety of the world is more important that than right now. Loki needs a power source-”

“He made it personal,” Tony said suddenly.

“What? That's not the point,” Steve replied, confused.

Tony shook his head. “That _is_ the point. That's Loki's point. He hit us all right where we live. Why?”

“To tear us apart,” Steve allowed. “He wanted to make a mess of us and our allies.”

“He knows he has to take us out to win, right? That's what he wants. He wants to beat us and he wants to be seen doing it. He wants an audience.”

“Him and everybody else,” Steve mumbled to himself, then, louder, “I had front row seats to his act in Stuttgart.”

“Yeah. That's just a preview, this is opening night. Loki's a full-tilt diva,” Stark explained, going up the steps to get higher up, getting a feel for the idea. “He wants flowers, he wants parades, he wants a monument built in the skies with his name plastered…”

Stark paused, staring off into the distance. “Sonofabitch.”

 

* * *

 

Steve burst into the room Natasha and Clint were recovering in. “We’re leaving to fuck up Loki,” he said simply. “I need someone to drop us off at the SHIELD base in the city and then take over flight.”

Natasha stared at him. “I’m in. Clint?”

“Let me suit up,” he agreed.

When a man tried to tell them they couldn’t take the jet, Steve just grabbed him by the shoulders, picked him up, and deposited him outside the ship gently. The surprised look on the guy’s face was priceless.


	23. Eleutheromania

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eleutheromania: An intense and irresistible desire for freedom.

The jet hovered over the street and Bucky picked up Charlie, the dog remaining quite calm despite this. With a nod, they both dropped. After letting Charlie down, they both ran into the garage, Charlie hot on their heels.

_ “The portal is opening, we don’t have much time,”  _ Natasha said in their ears and Steve jumped up onto Rosie, climbing in, grabbing the battery, and slotting it into place. The tank hummed to life and Bucky slid into the steering seat.  Steve locked the door behind him and told Charlie to sit down as he got into the second seat. He settled in, flipping switches and pressing in the power up sequence.

“All systems go,” Bucky said, looking over the controls and starting forward. “And the canon is online.”

Steve nodded. “We got places to be, let’s move it.”

Bucky squinted through the window and tried to look upward. “I can drive, no problem, but I can’t see where the cannon is aimin’ if something’s above me. You’ll have to get out and tell me what to do.”

“Nothin’ new,” Steve said, adjusting their course so they didn’t knock over a column. “Won’t be a problem. Here, hand me the-” Bucky guessed what Steve had to say and put the energy packet for the mounted gun in his outstretched hand. “Thanks. I’ll tell you where to aim over the comm.” 

They finally got out of the garage and turned onto the street, where chaos was already sending people running and shouting. Cars were being abandoned as people ran for cover and shelter. Despite their narrow window of vision, they could see aliens rushing about overhead, shooting their guns at miscellaneous things.  “Alright,” Steve said, getting out of his seat. “Stay safe, you hear?”

“Same with you, don’t get killed.”

Steve kissed Bucky firmly and patted Charlie's head before climbing out and closing the door behind him. Steve stood up, grimacing at the destruction already starting to show in the streets. He snapped the battery into the side of the Gatling gun and started firing at the swarms of aliens overhead.  They rolled down a few streets, targeting thick swarms of the beasts and trying to take out as many as they could when Steve noticed a group of officers frantically trying to fight back. Steve urged Bucky to continue and jumped off the tank, running over.

He dodged fire and punched out a few of the aliens on his way, feeling slick goop cover his fists.

“-National Guard? Does the army know what's happening here?” One guard said to the other.

“...Do we?” the second asked incredulously.

“Hey!” Steve called, making them look down at him. “Listen here, you need to put men in these buildings and get people off the streets. Take ‘em through the basement or through the subway. Just keep them away from the battle. We need a perimeter as far back as 39th.” He gestured behind them, to the street in question.

“Why the hell should I take orders from you?” a cop blurted, staring at him.

“First of all, which onea us brought a fuckin’ tank to the battle,” Steve started ranting, only to be interrupted by an explosion. He grabbed his shield on instinct and blocked an energy beam, then throwing the shield into the chitauri soldier and grabbing it when it bounced back.  He grabbed his gun and fired shots straight into their torsos. The blue beams put holes in them or made them vanish into dust, no longer a problem.

They cops blinked at him in shock. “And because I’m fuckin’ in charge here!” Steve finished. “So you’re gonna do what I say, or people are going to die!”

The man turned to his fellow officers. “I need men in those buildings-” he repeated.

Satisfied, Steve ran back to his tank, evaporating soldiers as he jumped over crushed cars. He climbed up the side of Rosie and got back into position, taking the gun in hand.  Steve watched as the quinjet hovering around Stark Tower suddenly stalled in the air and began smoking. It faltered and narrowly missed crashing into building in the descent. Steve worried a bit, but the ship wasn’t demolished and the back end opened a minute later. Natasha and Clint scrambled out, already looking around at the action.

Steve cussed as Bucky ran over an empty car, crushing it and making Steve wobble in place, struggling to catch balance.

_ “Sorry, there’s shit in the road,”  _ Bucky said. “ _ Whassit? Roadkill? _ ” he joked.

_ “Where did you get a tank?” _ Stark said in his ear, the golden man flying overhead.

“I own this, actually,” Steve replied.

_ “Wow, SHIELD perks are better than I thought. ‘Rosie’ nice touch!” _

Bucky finally stopped the tank just in front of Natasha and Clint. “Hey,” Steve said, which was all that seemed appropriate. Middle of an alien invasion on a World War Two era tank. What a day.

“Hi. I see you spent your time wisely,” Natasha said, looking at the tank, then back up at the portal. “Stark, are you seeing this?”

_ “I'm seeing, still working on believing. Where's Banner? Has he shown up yet?”  _

“Banner?” Steve looked up and watched Stark make another round, automatically firing at the swarm on his tail. 

Just then some small engine sounded next to them and Steve looked over. Banner sat on the tiniest motorcycle he’d ever seen, looking awkward as ever. He climbed off and wandered over. “Well this all seems horrible,” Banner said, looking at the tank and trailing off.

“Uh, found him,” Steve reported, looking up as if to spot Stark whizzing through the air in a red flash.

_ “Tell him to suit up, I’m bringing the party to you.” _

Steve frowned and squinted at the sky, eyes widening when he saw a  _ fucking space whale _ headed towards them.

“Ya know what, fuck that!” Steve blurted, jumping up out of the pit and standing next to the nozzle of the cannon, putting his arm up to gauge the distance and angle. “Tanks up! Prepare to fire! Mark, 60 degrees up, dead center. Full power on my signal!” Steve shouted, putting a hand up. The tank shuddered under him as the beam powered up and Banner looked back to the whale, scrambling over. 

“On my mark!... Fire!” The tank shuddered and shot a blinding blue beam, hitting the whale square in the face. The tank jerked back with the blast and when the energy vanished, the monsters entire head and a good part of it’s body went with it. The beast began falling from the sky and hit the road, dragging and tearing through asphalt and concrete, barely stopping seventy feet away.

_ “I have got to get me one of those,” _ Stark said, hovering in the air.  _ “How many times can it do that?” _

“Full power, once every half hour, half power every fifteen minutes. You get the idea. Now,” he looked up seeing Thor descend. The Asgardian landed next to them, stumbling and holding his side, grimacing as he looked up. “What'sa mattah with you?” Steve asked, slipping into thick brooklyn drawl. He cleared his throat.

“The powers surrounding the cube is impenetrable,” Thor announced. “Not even your metal machine could affect it.”

“Thor is right. We gotta deal with these guys,” Stark said apologetically.

“Guys,” Natasha said cautiously as the aliens start bearing down, more pouring from the portal.

“Cap? Call it,” Barton requested urgently.

“Alright, since I’m the only one who brought the toys of war with me, I’m leading this like a frontal assault. Our mission is to close the portal and stop Loki for good, but until we figure out how to do that, we're gonna focus on containment. Barton, I want you up high, eyes on everything. Call out patterns and strays so we can handle whatever they throw at us. You’re our eye in the sky, you hear?”

Barton nodded. 

“Stark, you got the perimeter. Anything gets more than three blocks out, fry it.”

Clint looked at Stark. “Wanna give me a lift?”

“Right. Better clench up, Legolas.” Stark grabbed Clint’s quiver and dragged him up and away. Steve followed their path and then looked back at what remained of the team.

“Thor, you've gotta bottleneck that portal. Slow them down, fewer through, fewer to deal with. You've got the lightning. Light the fuckers up.”

Thor nodded and spun his hammer, flying away.

Steve looked at Natasha. “We stay on the ground and keep the fighting here. Bucky has his tank, and I trust him to keep them away.” 

She nodded and started reloading her guns.

Steve looked at Banner. “You’ve got two choices here, you can stick with Bucky, or go green. Bucky might need someone to call out positions, but if you could catch some stragglers, that’d be a lot of help too.”

Banner bit his lip. “I’ll…” he took a breath. “  _ ‘Go green.’ _ “

“Might be a good time to get angry then. Here, you want me to kick yer ass?”

Banner laughed. “That’s the thing cap, Captain; I’m  _ always _ angry.” He spun around and got big and green, shirt ripping clean off as he jumped away, roaring. Steve blinked dumbly for a second and then mentally shook himself. He  noticed the aliens on the road, running threateningly towards civilians, and he grabbed gun again, disintegrating the threats. 

Nat and he worked that way for a good ten minutes before then Barton piped up.  _ “Captain, the bank on 42nd past Madison, they caught a lot of civilians there.” _

_ “Well, whaddya waitin’ for, Cap? Go get ‘em!” _ Bucky said.

“Nat, use the gun if you want, I’m headed to the bank!”

“Wait!” She called back, making Steve pause. “I need a lift.” She pointed at the crafts overhead and Steve nodded, climbing down taking the shield off his back. 

“You know what to do?” he asked. 

“How hard can it be?” Steve grinned and she ran at him. He launched her high, the weight barely registering, and she maintained neat composure in the air. She grabbed a craft and zipped away, blending in naturally. With her set, Steve ran as fast as he could through the rubble filled streets lined with fire and alien guts. His guns aiming every which way as he spun and flipped, using the shield strapped to his back to catch the blasts and as a slick sliding surface.

He never liked battles, as of what they stood for and how two opposing sides faced casualties, but the rush of battle always got to him, made him dizzy with adrenaline and hands itching to hit. Seeing his opponents as non-human helped a lot, as well as the fact that they were deliberately targeting civilians and innocents.

Upon arriving, Steve used an explosion under the car he was atop to his advantage, crashing into the window and rolling with the force. He brought his gun up and aimed for the aliens on the banister, hearing people yell and shriek as the chitauri fired back.

He ducked behind his shield, eyes going wide as a device started beeping in one of the chitauri hands. “Everybody get outta here!” He shouted.

Steve jumped up and threw his sheild at the alien holding the bomb. With that one dead from a crushed chest, he finished his attack by going hand to hand with the second. A third soldier grabbed the bomb when it rolled over to it and made to throw. Steve knew it was going to blow before it went airborne, so he rolled for the dead alien, yanking his shield out of it’s chest and curling behind it. 

Unfortunately for him, he was backed against the banister so when the concussive boom followed, he was launched back like a cannon ball, hitting the edge of the opposite banister, splintering the wood and bending the metal, and dropping down into space where the civilians were.

He slammed hard, his helmet taking most of the brunt.

Dazed, Steve just lay there for a minute, taking a small break. He felt like he was getting beat up in an alley again and damn if it didn’t make him real mad.

But he could take a second to lie there.

“Ohmygod, are you dead?!” Someone asked and Steve put up his hand.

“N’ jes gimmea second,” he mumbled. He let out a long breath and hit the floor with the flat of his fist, pumping himself up, then climbed to his feet.

A woman was standing in front of him, staring at his legs. Steve looked down, seeing a piece of wood sticking out of his left leg. “Ah, shit.” He quickly pulled it out and groaned when he finally felt the pain.

“Ohmygod, don’t  _ pull it out, are you insane _ !” she exclaimed, hands flying up in exasperation.

“I’m fine,” Steve protested, putting pressure on it. “Here, do you have a spare shirt or something?”

“I’ll do you one better, because unlike you, clearly, I am a trained professional!” She snapped and pulled out gauze from her satchel, the two of them wrapped it around the puncture wound and Steve nodded.

“Thanks. Satchel. Handy. I gotta get me one of those, miss...” he wanted to ask her name, but he didn’t really have time to have a nice chat with some shitty alcohol like in his bar in underground Brooklyn.

“Claire,” she said. “Temple. I’m a nurse.”

“Yeah, thanks for the patch job, but now I’ve gotta go fight aliens.” He gave an incredulous laugh, shaking his head. “My day.”

“Mine too,” she agreed. “Wait, your, um,” she reached out and tapped his goggles, making Steve realize that the glass was cracked, just a little shard missing. 

“It’ll hold.” He noticed a cigarette on her lips and gestured. “Mind if I?” 

He felt silly pretty much immediately but she started and looked it it.  “Take it. I was only smoking because I thought I was going to die. Someone else gave it to me.”

He took a drag, feeling it take the edge off his panicked frantic nerves and he blew it out, nodding to her.

She nodded back, in understanding, and he ran, or limped, back out into the battle. On this trip out, he was a little pleased to see armed forces arriving, good ol’ army boys and girls in combat ready uniforms holding automatics and aiming for the sky. Among them were emergency response teams, moving injured civilians, relocating people, and working to get them away from the battle.

It wasn’t long before he was fighting again, having lost the cigarette and his semblance of reality, Thor on his side this time. Shield on his arm and gun in his hand, he forgot to check his six once and then got clipped as he turned around. It felt like he got smacked by a bowling ball made of lava or something, the heat burning and eating at him. He came back to himself as Thor pulled him up to his feet unsteadily.

“You ready for another bout?” Thor asked.

Thor was a lot taller than him, Steve noticed. Over a foot taller. Bucky was only nine inches at most. Steve wished he could be that big. Thor’s also broad and bulky, a stark contrast to Steve marked by the highlight that was Thor picking him up like a limp kitten.

“What? You gettin' sleepy?” Steve said automatically, then looked down at his stomach. Some of the material had  melted away and his skin looked like someone had taken sandpaper to it for about an hour, red and bleeding, but nothing punctured. It looked a little inflamed and a bit swollen.  Thor followed his gaze and instantly looked concerned. 

Steve waved off his concern. He’d be fine. “This? This is nothing. Try getting’ shot twice in th’ gut. It’s much worse. S'all bleedin' and shit, this just stings.”

_ “I can close it! Can anybody hear me? I can shut the portal down!”  _ Natasha said suddenly.

“What? Do it!” Steve ordered. They couldn’t afford any more destruction and it was abundantly clear that a seven assholes was no match for a full scale invasion.

_ “No, wait!”  _ Stark said suddenly.

_ “Wait?  _ Stark, these things are  _ still coming _ !” Steve shouted.

_ “I got a nuke coming in, it's gonna blow in less than a minute. And I know just where to put it.” _

Steve threw up his hands in exasperation at the destruction around him and the aliens flying overhead. “Y’know what? This might as well happen.” He paused, realizing that situation. “Wait a second, you know that’s a one way trip, right?”

Stark didn’t answer, just flew overhead, the missile on his back. He curved up towards the portal, slipping inside easy as that, like a pebble into water. Silence fell as the missile exploded within, orange-white glow deep inside the black and blue. Suddenly, all of the chitauri soldiers and the space whales drop like rocks, sprawling over the roads and falling from the sky with wet thuds.

Steve could see that the supernova from the explosion was getting closer. If it stayed open any longer, they’d catch the fall back of that. He swallowed and said, “Close it,” in the steadiest voice he could manage.  Soon after the portal started contracting. Steve stared, eyes watering when he realized that Stark was a dead man that couldn’t even be buried on earth.  But just as the portal finally snapped shut, a tiny gold and red figure appeared, falling from the sky. “Son of a bitch,” Steve managed, laughing a bit in utter relief.

“He isn’t slowing down,” Thor said and started spinning his hammer. Steve started, eyes going wide, but then, out of damn nowhere, the Hulk jumped up and caught the armor, using the side of a building to slow down before hitting the road. The Hulk snorted and and dropped Stark on the broken asphalt. 

Steve limps over quickly, dropping to his knees and ripping off Stark’s face plate.  The man’s features were still and his eyes were closed. The arc reactor in his chest was dark, the usual glowing blue faded away.

“Ah, fuck,” Steve said, and closed his eyes, clenching his fists. At least he could be buried on earth. That’s what he was just thinking, wasn’t it? This soldier came home.

The Hulk snorts and then roars loudly in their ears, making Steve flinch away. His ear drums felt like they were ringing and he shook his head, dust flying off his helmet and startling him.

Stark gasped awake and Steve’s eyes widen. “What happened?! Please tell me nobody kissed me,” Stark said first off.

Steve scowled on instinct and reached out to pinch Stark’s nose.

“Ow!”

“Ya fuckin’ stopped my goddamn heart ya piece of shit,” Steve says. “But- I’m glad yer alive. Ya got more lives than a damn alley cat and hey, we won. Good fuckin’ job.”

“I don’t like cats,” Stark says, and then the severity of that sentence hit him. “We won. Oh, hey! Yay! Alright everybody, let’s just-” Stark groaned a bit, trying to move. “Take a day. Let’s not come into work tomorrow. Hey, I saw a shwarma join two blocks from here. I don’t know what it is, but I wanna try it.”

“The fuck is shwarma!?” Bucky shouted from the tank, hands cupped around his mouth. He must have climbed out a bit after everything started falling from the sky. “And I can’t believe your first thought after you died and came back to life was about food!”

“You’re one to talk,  _ steakhouse _ !” Steve called back.

“Shut yer trap, ya little shit! ‘M makin’ a point here.”

“I’m just pointing out facts, ya dumb jerk!”

“Yeah? And you're a little punk ass  _ troublemaker _ !”

Steve flipped him off and Bucky put the middle finger of his prosthetic up. Steve turned to everybody. “We’re game for food.”

“Is that what that was?” Stark asked and Steve laughed. 

Steve quickly got Stark in a fireman's carry and said, “C’mon, I’ve got us a ride.”

“We have unfinished business,” Thor reminded them pointedly.

Stark looked over. “So, shawarma after?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally got this edited! enjoy the revise!


	24. Ludic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ludic: Full of fun and high spirits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this took me so long, but I finished the rest!

Thor’s hammer seemed to do the trick, as well as the magic restraining handcuffs, so the whole team got to go eat shwarma in peace.

Of course, they had to keep an eye on the tank, so Steve and Bucky sat outside while the others ordered. Steve didn't really know what shwarma was, so he just asked Tony to get them something. The other Avengers came out with their massive order and climbed up, sitting where they could. Bucky and Steve rested on the metal cover of the tread, Bucky helping Steve out of his suit shirt and winding bandaged around his stomach for the nasty scrape-burn. While Bucky worked on that, Steve fed Bucky by reaching behind him. Charlie had his own bowl of water and was peacefully laying next to them, wagging his tail.

Steve was surprised when Bucky took off his shirt and put it over him, so he looked back.

“Yer th’ one with war wounds and no shirt,” Bucky pointed out. He leaned in to whisper in Steve’s ear. “Plus, that’s all mine to see, can’t be showin’ you off. Lose you to somebody so fast it’d be like sellin’ hotcakes.”

Steve laughed.

After everybody stuffed themselves full of shawarma and started actually talking to each other, Stark cleared his throat. “So,” he said. “Cap.”

“Mm?” Steve said, tiredly, leaning back into Bucky.

“Well, I was going to ask earlier, but there was a lot of arguing going on, and then we were fighting for our lives, so I’m just going to ask the question everyone is wondering and say; what the fuck, how did you break the gun and then pick me up inside the suit?”

“Oh, that.” Steve shrugged. “I’m enhanced. Like Banner.”

“Really,” Banner said. “You’re a lot less, ah, green, if I may.”

“Yeah, mine was a serum they wanted to use to make super soldiers and I was the lab rat. Basically, I’m stronger, faster, and heal quicker,” Steve waves a hand. “But they could only make onea me.”

“Second question; why do you have a tank? I mean, it’s a lovely tank, nice design, but it’s… what it is and it’s in New York City, so…”

“It was in a friend's will,” Steve evaded because it was technically true.

“And why the Captain? That’s a heavy title to bear.”

“Yeah, I was wondering too,” Banner said.

“Captain? I do not understand; is that not merely a rank for your military?” Thor asked.

“Well, yes, but during World War II, an American spy and his team were a task force dedicated to stopping a global threat called Hydra. They called the spy the Captain because he couldn’t use his real name. To this day, seventy years since his death, nobody knows who he was or what he looked like,” Banner explained.

“Ah, so he is a warrior that died in a grand battle, yes?”

“Sort of. He and his right-hand man killed the leader of Hydra and crashed a bomber plane into an ocean. Nobody knows which one because it’s still classified to the public. All we know is that it could have wiped out the Eastern Seaboard in an hour."

“It now makes even I question the reason why you adopted the name of a man as grand as this warrior,” Thor admitted.

“Right?” Stark asked. “Like, the memory of the Captain and Sergeant Barnes is almost sacred. After Bucky Barnes died, people named James went up tenfold for the next five years.”

Suddenly startled, Banner’s eyes widened and he stared at Bucky, who grinned. “No,” Bruce said in awed horror. “No way, are you serious? I-” Banner covered his face and took a few deep breaths.

“Brucie bear, what did you just figure out?” Stark asked.

“Cap called him Bucky. The Captain and Bucky. The coincidence, the files, it’s impossible but-”

“Oh my god, are you them?!” Stark squawked, almost falling off the tank. “Tell me you are not Sergeant Barnes and the actual Captain, like in real life.”

“Well, shit, my momma didn’t raise no liar,” Bucky said. “Cap’s did though.”

“My ma was a lovely woman and she wouldn’t take no disrespect, Barnes.” Steve swatted Bucky. “Shut yer filthy mouth.”

“Nah, I’m not gonna,” Bucky said, putting his forehead on Steve’s shoulder and grinning into his skin. “Yer mamma raised a spy and a damn poker cheat.”

“Yer just a shitty poker player, I don’t cheat!”

“A damn cheat and a liar,” Bucky insisted, still grinning like a loon.

“Yer mouth, Barnes, bettah watch it.”

Stark looked like he was having an aneurysm. Banner didn’t look much better.

“Well met!” Thor boomed, unperturbed.

 

* * *

 

After they ate their fill, Stark told Steve to drive them to Stark Tower. He offered everyone a room while they healed and attempted to help fix up the city. After Steve finished recovering, the ragged skin on his side smoothing out and his limp vanishing, he went out almost every day to help out. Lift cars, rescue trapped civilians, hold rubble back while people got out of ruined buildings, run around the city delivering food and water and helping the other rescue teams.

Every now and then he could see Stark flying overhead with materials for emergency construction or carting a trashed car away. 

Bucky, for his part, helped Steve. He was nearly as strong, even with his prosthetic, and Charlie helped people calm down from panic attacks or help shake them out of shock. Also, Bucky put a plow on the front of Rosie and got to push rubble into piles to free up the roads.

But, of course, eventually the media started ravaging for facts on the Avengers. They knew about Stark, as he was very public about his alter ego, but they had nearly nothing about Natasha and Clint, and absolutely nothing about Steve and Bucky.  So the press got curious, then the people got curious, and then Stark said they had to do a press conference about this.

Steve, who continued to wear his mask around most of the Avengers, stared at Tony. “I am a spy,” Steve said slowly. “You know that, right? I don’t go on public TV, I don’t answer any questions. Legally, I don't even exist.”

“Yeah, but you do. People were recording us as we fought, and some of them even saw us when we were eating out, nasty wounds and dirty people and all. In fact, you’re already trending.” Stark showed his tablet.

_ “I wish I had a boyfriend that drove a tank everywhere, patched up my war wounds, and let me borrow his shirt, _ ” the text read under the picture of Bucky hugging Steve from behind. 

_ “Ya same.” _

_ “And look at the doggo he comes with! Complete package!” _

_ “They’re obviously just friends! Not all bros have to be gay, jesus christ” _

_ “are you blind” _

“Shit,” Steve said and put a hand on his face. 

“Exactly,” Stark said. “But the important thing to know is if you don’t go, they’ll get get crazier and then start stalking you.”

Steve groaned and put his face in his hands. 

“Also, if you choose to go, you’ll need to decide if you want to say you’re the original or not.”

Steve thought about it and found that he wanted people to know. He wanted people to ask what fighting in the war was like and what he did. Not to be vain or attention seeking, but to inform them and fill the gap in history nobody knew anything about. Considering that, considering there was a _gap in history_ , felt like he was disrespecting the Commandos and himself, somehow.

“I’m going to say we’re the real deal,” Steve decided.

“Alright, I’ll warn Pepper and you can tell your boy-toy.”

“Fair’s fair,” Steve sighed.


	25. Lalochezia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lalochezia: The emotional relief gained from using abusive or profane language.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Steve gives a mad fuckin' speech. It was really fun to write angry liberal feminist Steve Rogers, lemme tell you that.

Steve didn’t know that he had stage fright, but apparently his nerves hate it with a passion. He felt totally unprepared and naked despite being dressed up in his uniform. He was glad that the reporters couldn’t see his eyes because Bucky always said he had expressive eyes and he was about to flip out in a minute. Charlie sensed this and distracted Steve to the best of his ability.

SHIELD had advised him to play up to the stereotype revolving around him, the goody-two-shoes bullshit and, well, he was always a better actor than liar. He had fucking note cards. Tony talked with the reporters for a bit, charmed them with honeyed words and jokes. Eventually, they were less ravenous and more receptive to an actual press conference.

“Now, at long last, I know, the Captain will answer some questions,” Tony said, clapping and gesturing him forward.

Steve got up and walked over, projecting ease. Just keep his cool, give a fake smile, they can’t see his eyes. Just words. It’s easy.

Tony had left him a cup of water in a silvery metal cup and he felt like immediately draining it. He refrained and stood on his toes to see over the podium. God that was embarrassing. He knows he’s short and this  _ isn’t helping _ .

“Hello, I’m the Captain and I’ll be answering any questions you have today,” he said, giving a winning smile though internally panicking. The reporters shot to their feet, all talking over each other. Jesus christ. He could feel the fake smile falter and Tony came to save the day.

“Hey, let the man breathe! Let’s go one at a time, how about… you!” Tony pointed.

The woman in question stood. “Can you confirm or deny the rumors that you’re the same Captain that served in World War II in the fight against the Nazi science division of Hydra?”

Okay, that was easy to answer. “I can confirm those rumors,” he said and they got loud again.

Stark whistled loudly and they calmed down. “Next question.”

A young man stood. “Then is is safe to assume that the pilot of the tank seen during the Battle of Manhattan is Sergeant James Barnes?”

“He is.”

“How are you both here if you were reported MIA and presumed dead during World War Two?”

“We crashed the Hydra aircraft carrying explosives in the Arctic and we were both cryogenically frozen. We survived due to enhancements we were giving during the war. We were defrosted a little less than half a year ago.” He played up the oh-shucks-golly-gee and smiled sheepishly. “It’s been an adjustment, I’ll say. I bought a newspaper for a dollar when I used to sell them for less than a nickel.”

He sold papers when he was little, that was true. He wrote it on the notecards he put on the podium when he walked up here. He even had a fake job lined up; freelance illustrator. 

They tittered with laughter. So far, so good.

“Is there any way to prove that you’re the Captain?”

“Well, I guess that’s a bit tricky, considering how secretive we had to be back then, but SHIELD is willing to verify my statements. Also, I’ll answer any questions about my missions against Hydra, if that helps.”

He kind of expects someone to go ‘where were you on October 3rd, 1944’ and him having to go ‘passed out in some mud under a tree past German lines trying to heal a bullet wound to the leg’ but the next question was “What kind of enhancements?”

Hmm. Not much better, but still a valid question. “I was selected for an Allied program designed to create a super soldier serum. It made me stronger, faster, and accelerated my healing. It also helped Sergeant Barnes and I survive cryogenic freeze.”

“How old are you?”

“Are we talkin’ the time I was under the ice, or how old I actually am?” he joked, making the reporters laugh.

“Both, if you can.”

“I’m 25 and 92, I s’pose.” That seems old. So old. Nobody lived to that age back then, the medicine wasn’t nearly enough to save people from illnesses and the older you got the more likely it was you’d be buried next Sunday. Steve kind of felt that old though, sometimes.

“Quite accomplished for a man your age,” someone noted.

“I was just doin’ what had to be done,” Steve said. “Serving my country, fighting for what’s right.” That sounded like a slogan. Sounded a little obnoxious too. Ugh. He regrets everything. He just wants to go hide and blend in somewhere and stab a Nazi in the neck.

Wait. He can’t do that anymore. 'Freedom of speech.' Dammit. He dismisses the thought and focuses again.

“What was the war like?”

Exhausting, agonizing, filled with anxiety, dangerous, bloody, scary. Each day was filled with dread and worry. Some days they were so hungry they’d cook and eat wildlife like rats or squirrels.  His smile felt fake. He kind of hoped it _looked_ fake too. “A lot of work.”

“How does it feel to wake up in the 21st century and find that you’ve been made into a conservative figurehead and a role model for this country?”

Steve’s smile faltered. “It’s something,” he said lamely. He didn't like it, in all honestly, but a neutral response was better.  He finally felt thirsty enough to reasonably take the water Stark left and brought it to his lips.

“In your day homosexuals weren't allowed to serve in the military or get married. Shouldn't America return to those times?"

Three things happened at once. One, Steve choked on the water. Two, Steve broke the metal cup, crushing it in his fist. Three, Steve bit down and snapped off a piece of metal around the rim.  He bent over a little and coughed. 

“Fuck! I got metal in my teeth!” he swore, plucking and spitting the metal out. A couple tiny pieces came into his hand and he put them on the podium.

Bucky started laughing.

“Shut it, Barnes! I ain’t your damn laughing stock!” Steve snapped. ( _What did they think was going to happen, springing that utter bullshit on me?!)_

_(I don’t know but it was hilarious. Your expression!)_ Bucky continued laughing.

_(Fuck you!)_ Steve snapped, and Bucky laughed harder. (I’m gonna give that bastard a piece of my mind, okay?)

“ _D’accord_ ,” Bucky said, smiling and sitting back, Charlie happily panting away between his knees. 

Steve tugged the crushed cup out of his hand and then looked back to the uneasy and confused crowd. The reporter, someone from Fox News by the looks of it, was still standing, now a little less sure. He narrowed his eyes at his stupid fucking notecards.

“Fuck the notecards,” he growled, tearing them up and tossing the fluttering pieces over his shoulder. He pointed at the crowd, in the general direction of the dumbass reporter. “Y’know what? I’m not here to live up to the bullshit expectations you pulled outta your ass. I’m not a conservative figurehead, I’m not here to validate your opinions, and I’m not here to live up to your fuckin’ expectations; I’m here to live up to mine, so if you wanna know what I really think, you’re gonna shut your jaw and sit your ass down.”

He did, a surprised expression on his face.

“You just asked me the stupidest fuckin’ question. ‘ _ Should we return to those times’ _ “ he mocked. “Of fuckin’ course not!” 

Without realizing it, he had pulled out his pipe and started packing it. He allowed this to continue. “Hearin’ that queer people could marry was the second best day of my fuckin’ life, right after hearin’ the Nazi party died with Hitler and the Allies won the war.” Steve lit his pipe and continued as he sucked in flavored smoke.

“I know that nobody knows about who I am or where I come from, but you're about to learn something. I’m about to talk a lot, so get ready. First off, I ain’t conservative. Far from it. I’m liberal, all the way. I believe in equal rights for everybody, I don’t like bullies, and I  _ hate _ fascists. When I was unemployed, cuz’ I lived in the Depression, ‘course I didn’t have a job for some of it, I used to go ‘round Brooklyn vandalizin’ signs that promoted segregation. Used to scratch out ‘whites only’ and write in ‘assholes only’. Had a collection of  ‘whites only’ and ‘blacks only’ signs shoved under the bed. I stood up against bullying and discrimination since the moment I knew what it was. 

“Bucky and I used ta play baseball in alleys with a pair of black boys that lived near us. One day this racist old lady drove us away usin’ words I don’t ever wanna repeat. I’m sure you can think of a couple off the toppa yer head. She told us we shouldn’t play with black kids and screamed at us so bad those boys never came back to our neighborhood again, scared she’d accuse them of stealing or something and get the cops involved. Now, I’m seven and pissed, so Bucky and I, for a week straight, steal the pies she has cooling on her windowsill. Shared each one with those boys. That apple pie tasted like victory.

“When I grew up, I didn’t change a hair on my head. I still fought off bullies and bigots with words and my fists. It got me beat up more times than I could count. Bucky and my ma swore I’d die in a pool of my blood. I always said the same thing in reply. ‘Least I’d die fighting bullies.’

“When I got older, and my ma passed, I still fought for what was right. And here's where your stupid fuckin’ question comes in. I mean it when I mean I don’t care for discrimination of any kind. I didn’t let anyone get away with spewin’ slurs, especially those targeted at the queer community. I fought people kicking the shit out of gay men, I threw punches at cops doing it too. In fact, I was almost in the center of the queer community out there; I was a bartender at an illegal underground gay bar run by the Irish mob.”

The crowd got loud and Steve _burned_. “ _ Hey, _ lisssen here!” he snapped.

They dropped into silence again. “Good. Now, mosta my friends and coworkers were gay or lesbian, or what have you. Every night I wasn’t sick I was there, serving watered down alcohol for a couplea dollars pay. And hell, I wasn’t just there for the money, I was there to be safe too. Bucky Barnes and I have been queerin’ it up since 1938 and engaged since 1945-”

The crowd exploded and Steve continued his rant, volume raising. “AND I AIN’T ABOUT TA BE ASHAMED OF IT SINCE I FOUGHT TOOTH AND NAIL FOR THE RIGHTS OF EVERY INDIVIDUAL IN THIS DAMN COUNTRY AND I AIN’T ABOUT TO STOP FOR NOTHIN’. I FIGHT FOR IMMIGRANTS, I FIGHT FOR EQUAL RIGHTS FOR WOMEN, I FIGHT FOR MINORITIES, I FIGHT FOR THE QUEER COMMUNITY, I FIGHT FOR RELIGIOUS TOLERANCE, I FIGHT FOR THE RIGHTS DENIED TO HUMAN BEINGS. I FIGHT FOR ‘ _ ILLEGALS _ ’ BECAUSE AS THE SON OF AN ‘ILLEGAL’ IMMIGRANT, I KNOW DAMN WELL THAT THE EXISTENCE OF PEOPLE SHOULDN’T BE OUTLAWED. I’M AS QUEER AS THEY COME AND I’M ONE ANGRY IRISH BASTARD. I FIGHT DISCRIMINATION, I FIGHT FASCISM, I FIGHT HATE, I FIGHT INTOLERANCE, I FIGHT ANTI-SEMITISM AND ISLAMOPHOBIA, I FIGHT RACISM, I FIGHT OPPRESSORS, I FIGHT ABLEISM. I FIGHT FOR THE CORE VALUES OF THIS COUNTRY; TRUTH, FREEDOM, JUSTICE,  _ EQUALITY _ !”

Amazingly, by the end of his rant, they got quiet again, staring in stunned shock at his passionate and rage-filled voice. “When WWII broke out, I was one of the first to try ta enlist because that was the best chance at fightin’ for my values that I was ever gonna get. I was denied five times due to my poor health and I lied on my enlistment for four times before I became a candidate for the super soldier serum. I was weak, small, and sickly, nothing like the twelve other men I was grouped with, and every single day those men bullied me into the ground. 

“I was asthmatic and they threw dirt in my face, they kicked me in the chest and left me strugglin’ to breathe. They stole my food, put salt in my coffee, stole and vandalized my personal possessions, tied me to the top of a flagpole miles from camp and left me to die upside down in nothing but my underwear. I know what it’s like to feel weak, humiliated, and helpless in the face of people abusing their power. I’ve known it my whole life and I fight to make sure nobody else has to feel that weakness. I’ll die for it and that’s a fact because I know I’m gonna die fighting for what’s right, for what’s just, for equality and freedom. And that’s why I was selected. Because I fight for people instead of against them.

“I was the only super soldier to come from that program because a Hydra agent shot the head of the program in front of me. Killed one of the first few people who believed in me. His name was Dr. Abraham Erskine and he deserves to have his name known. He was one of the best men I ever knew. What he accomplished saved the world.  I was one of what was supposed to be an army and my CO decided I would be the best spy the SSR could use in the war. I was trained to fight Hydra, to fight Nazi’s and I kept in my mind what I was fighting for the entire time: freedom, truth, justice, and equality. When I got to Europe, I saw men standing to the side, watching tragedy and not lifting a finger to help. I went AWOL to rescue the soldiers at Azzano. I went against orders because I knew what I was doing was right and then I kept doing it. They ‘allowed’ me to because they knew they couldn’t stop me.

“One of you asked what war was like and I’m about to tell you; it was worse than hell. I fought for my life, for the lives of my men every second of every day. It was a never ending struggle. It was us or them. It was pain, suffering, anxiety, and fear. It was like climbing uphill while fighting freezing winds for your life and knowing that liberation was so far off that you might die before you even saw the sun again. Nothing about it was pleasant, nothing about it was easy, nothing about it was good or fun. It was death and horroRomanticizinging it leaves a bad taste in my mouth. The sacrifice of the men before me, the women before me, are something I think about every day and I’m grateful to every man who died serving. I mourn those who were killed by the war, including the ones who weren’t part of the fighting, the innocent jewish people who died in concentration camps. The people of color, the queer people, the disabled, and countless others. 

“I fought Hydra with these people in mind, with the people who will come after me in mind, and I looked Red Skull in the eye, I looked hate and oppression in the eye and I said ‘ _ you don’t scare me _ .’

“I died for this country. Bucky and I died for this country. We flew an airplane into the arctic, sacrificing ourselves for it’s core values, and when I woke up I was glad to find the world a better place than I left it.  We’ve got a long way to go. We always will, I think, but I- I can get  _ married _ . Never in my wildest dreams would I have thought it possible, but I fought for it. Bucky proposed to me in a cold tent in Italy and hastily added that I could hide the ring with my gloves and it was the nicest and most considerate thing I ever heard. Segregation isn’t law anymore. Hell, we have a black president and, god, I knew I had a short life span since I was set to die before I turned thirty, but that still amazes me. I fought for the rights of people of color, I wanted this equality, but I never thought I’d live to see it. I led the first desegregated army unit and even then it was a scandalous thing.

“So I woke up, saw this, saw all we had done, read what we accomplished, and a couple of weeks later it really hit me and I cried in the middle of a mall in front of a Boba Tea because I was so god damn thankful that this all happened.

“You ask me if I think we should go back to those time, to times where discrimination was normal, where you could turn someone away because of what the looked like, who they loved, where they came from, where people get killed or arrested for something they couldn’t help. You ask me, a queer vet, a man who fought for freedom and equality, you ask me this, and you expected what?” Steve blew out smoke through his nose, like an angry bull.

“An agreement?” he sneered, watching the man shrink under the gaze he couldn’t see through Steve’s goggles. “ _ Not in your life _ . I know where I stand and I will not bend to your assumptions. I will fight for the values I have my whole life and your assumptions, your discrimination, will break before I do.”

With that, Steve turned and strode back over to Bucky, grabbing his hand. “Let’s go.”


	26. Querencia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Querencia: A place from which one's strength is drawn, where one feels at home; the place where you are your most authentic self.

The minute Steve and Bucky got back to their room in Stark Tower, Steve collapsed on the couch. “Oh my god…” he groaned. “I just did that.”

Bucky laughed and kissed the back of his neck. “You did, and it was really cute to see you make that asshole sit down an’ shut up.”

“ ‘ _ We’ve been queering it up since 1938’ _ what was I thinking?”

“With your fists and heart, not’cha brain,” Bucky replied, sliding onto the couch with him and spooning up against Steve. His muscular arms wrapped around his chest and he chuckled into Steve’s hair. “Took all the stupid with you up to the podium.”

Steve groaned, putting his face in his hands. “I just came out for the both of us on national TV.”

Bucky laughed and then sighed happily. “It was one hellava speech, though. Yer so cute.”

 

* * *

 

“Hey,” Steve whispered in the middle of the night. Bucky grunted in acknowledgment, inhaling as he squeezed Steve closer. 

“You wanna go live in DC?” Steve said into Bucky’s collarbone.

Bucky hummed. “Go t’bed.”

“First of all, we’re ‘n a goddamn tub, Buck, and ’m bein’ serious.”

Bucky hummed inquisitively.

“Fury called. After he bitched about the press conference, he said they had headquarters down there. It’s pretty, might be a nice change of pace. I could go out on missions, and maybe you could… I dunno. What do you want to do?”

“Be a kept man,” Bucky said, just to get Steve to be quiet, most likely.

“I’m serious.”

Bucky was silent for a minute. “Maybe I could start a business,” he said at last. “A bar, or something. I really like bars nowadays. Good beer and good food are a swell mix. Just eat soft pretzels all day.”

Charlie, laying on the bed of blankets they made for him just outside the tub, looked over the rim at the words.

“No, no pretzels for you,” Steve said in amusement, pushing the dog’s snout away carefully. “I like it,” he said honestly. “Remember that watered down shit I had to serve?”

“The stuff the mob supplied? How could I forget! It was gross, but it got you drunk with enough of it.”

“Yeah. The alcohol was shit, but I liked the job. I could bartend when I’m home,” Steve said.

“Oh? So would that make me your boss for once?” Bucky teased.

“Watch it, mister,” Steve said playfully.

“Or will you be startin’ fights in my own bar like the punk you are?” Bucky continued, grinning into Steve’s hair.

“Hey now,” Steve said, and pinched Bucky’s butt, making him squeak. Steve laughs in delight at the ridiculous noise and Bucky tickles his sides in realization. Soon they’re in a sweaty giggling pile, blankets tangled around their legs and the pillows crooked. Bucky’s on his back and Steve laying on top of him. Steve knows they can’t sleep like that or Bucky’s nightmares will kick up a notch to punish them for it, but for the moment it’s safe and warm and everything is just right.

Bucky chuckled and hugged Steve closer, making him feel like a snuggly teddy bear. Bucky sighed warmly. “Okay, let’s go to DC.”

“Really?” Steve asked.

“Yeah. Let’s do it.”

"I love you."

"I love you too, buttercup."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! Done! This was a lot of fun and a lot of work, but I did it! I have some continuations planned out, including a kickass Winter Soldier sequel so hold on to your butts!
> 
> Please give comments and kudos!
> 
> (Also, I am open to names for Bucky's bar!!!)

**Author's Note:**

> Leave comments and kudos! I always reply!


End file.
